leaves are more than half shed from our landscape. the country is beginning to show her bones once again. fewer leaves in my yard than when my kids were young and we made huge piles of (mostly) maple leaves, like so much shredded gloss. three grandparent trees have shattered and fallen, and another is partially dead, leaving only one of the original "in the yard" elders. the other elders are here and there on the land, but not many are left.
i love this rock's surface, the color, the fissures
i am thinking of rock, of rock books, of shifu, of milkweed, of sunshine and frost and heavy rain. it is the season of books and woodstoves and hot tea and chocolate. it is the time of remembering and anticipating, the final harvests. canada celebrated thanksgiving while we celebrated conquering our first nations. odd.
two of the three finished, unsewn. i have to borrow a large mould for the big one, and finish the other small one. binding and content coming along. barry smith put a bug back in my ear that i had chased out. placing them in the landscape...somehow. i have been thinking about it. 
so come, please. it will be a small show, but i hope it will be a glimpse into my thinking. so from vessels to hold air to vessels to hold thoughts to vessels to hold humus, i am traveling through these ideas in woven paper and words. since this was published, the show has been scheduled to stay up into the beginning of december.