Feeling particularly attuned to small shifts and disturbances in the air. This is natural in the spring time, but this year, here, winter and spring have not followed their usual courses. Winter was absent and now looms and hangs with a cold that feels unseasonable.
wall constellations, the Rose Establishment, SLC.
But these small disturbances are productive, like tiny bellows on a flame that needs new fuel.
Gladiolus, someone's great misfortune - or the great fortune of the sidewalk. Either way.
Thinking these days about straw work. That is -- any sort of tangible expression borne from the remains of a harvest - fruitful or otherwise. Many traditions, notably the Hopi and particularly those of Scottish and Irish origin, dictate the making of corn dollies or corn mothers; little figures assembled in the harvest fields from the last sheaves of grain. They are relics - both of history and of a growing season, and they are traditionally brought inside, hung over the hearth and tended to. A corn dolly reminds the household of both hunger and fullness. They simultaneously signify satiety and the risk of famine. And they are fed, honored, respected, kept dry and free of burrowing worms and mites. What is our equivalent today? What sort of form do we glean from the last evidence of plenty to help us bear quiet hunger? Thinking thinking...
granary, Sudan, (unable to find image credit)
meoto-iwa, The Wedded Rocks, a sacred site in Japan depicting the marriage of two gods. Yeesh...way too good,