Reflections and notes on the relationship of art to nature and of nature to art from along Warwoman Creek, in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Katuah Province of Turtle Island, where the light, the dark, the seasons, the time of deep past, deep present and deep future all mix in alchemal mists to reveal and hide and transform these slopes, shaded coves, bright rivers, deep forests and me, and together sustain me and my art.

Saturday, February 16, 2013



I opened
this morning to a bluebird,
dead in the fine ashes
left of yesterday’s fire,
soft as down.

The eyes to her world
gone dead, she squints now
at something else
beyond sky and blue
feathered flight.

Such a delicate
illusion of blueness
for which there are
no words.

If there is a word,
it should not
be spoken, but held
somewhere back
of the tongue

in the place
where its song
made a space
within us - to sleep
in our ear, and to curl
in this shell of time


I put on Paul Simon, singing
    “these are the days
    of miracles and wonders”

    “the way we look
    to a distant constellation
    dying in the corner of the sky.”

and find myself
slow dancing around the room
my arms held out
to the beautiful beat of wings,

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