Day after day she forgets
the long run
the thief, stealing from her
rain drops spilling down glass
not lost, not sold, not given
the compass was hope for the scrubbing
How do you touch the dark?
Nasturtiums and a large bag of knitting and felt
but they are of charm and she would never see red
my heart, Portia to an artist in training,
remembers
the bone of a thought that was hid long ago
in a place only dreaming could know.
Day: February 12, 2005
Another Crispy Saturday Morning
Another Crispy Saturday Morning
After days and days of rain, sleet, and snow, the sun came out to play yesterday. The sky this morning is hazy, but the sun is bright and sparkling. The frost was quickly burned away, leaving a muddy brown-green landscape behind. The dogs played for a couple of hours, chasing rabbit tracks and digging for moles. Harriet is still outside, sunbathing. Elliott came in to cool off and get a drink, and is now lying under my feet, sleeping the sleep of the well and truly tuckered out. Ah, puppy bliss.
The cats are enjoying the sun’s appearance, too. After making a pile of all the socks, washcloths, and various pieces of paper looted from my art trash bin, Pandora is sitting on her nest, basking in a sunbeam. I love the way she faces into the light, periodically squeezing her eyes half-shut.
red paper boat 