10.31.2009
halloween
Elizabeth '09A bat is bornBats by Randall Jarrell
Naked and blind and pale.
His mother makes a pocket of her tail
and catches him. He clings to her long fur
By his thumbs and toes and teeth.
And then the mother dances through the night
Doubling and looping, soaring, somersaulting--
Her baby hangs on underneath.
All night, in happiness, she hunts and flies.
Her sharp cries
Like shining needlepoints of sound
Go out into the night, and echoing back,
Tell her what they have touched.
She hears how far it is, how big it is,
Which way it is going:
She lives by hearing.
The mother eats the moths and gnats she catches
In full flight; in full flight
The mother drinks the water of the ponds
She skims across. Her baby hangs on tight.
Her baby drinks the milk she makes him
In moonlight or starlight, in mid-air.
Their single shadow, printed on the moon
Or fluttering across the stars,
Whirls on all night; at daybreak
The tired mother flaps home to her rafter.
The others all are there.
They hang themselves up by their toes,
The wrap themselves in their brown wings.
Bunched upside-down, they sleep in air.
The sharp ears, their sharp teeth, their quick sharp faces
Are dull and slow and mild.
All the bright day, as the mother sleeps,
She folds her wings about her sleeping child.
10.24.2009
sleeping
August '09
Garnet, Idocrase and Sterling Silver NecklaceI was lying on the sofa to rest, to sleep
a few minutes, perhaps.
I felt my body sag into the hole of sleep.
All at once I was awake and frightened.
My own death was drifting near me
in the middle of life. The strong body
blurred and diminished into the waters.
The flesh floated away.
...
The shadow is a tight passage
that no one will be spared
who goes down
to the deep well.
In sleep, something remembers.
Three times since I woke
from the first sleep,
it has drunk that water.
Awake it is still sleeping.
- Donald Hall
10.20.2009
white pelicans
white pelicans - Fernandina Beach - August '09
Moonstone and Sterling Silver NecklaceI am so tired of what I have been doing.
Then one image without form came,
and I quit.
Look for someone else to tend the shop.
I am out of the image-making business.
Finally I know the freedom
of madness.
I am weary of personal worrying,
in love with the art of madness.
Tear open my shame and show the mystery.
How much longer do I have to fret
with self-restraint and fear?
Friend, this is how it is.
We are fringe sewn inside
the lining of a robe.
Soon we will be loosened,
the binding threads torn out.
- Rumi
10.10.2009
10.08.2009
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