(t)here and back again

 i received two men's robes
both cotton indigo that my friend found in japan
 i promptly washed them.
the lined one had accumulated years of dirt and dust which 
i washed once 
and rinsed at least a dozen times.
 both pieces dried on a very  hot day in a very 
short time.
are scented now with north country summer
not dust.

 the ikat patterning on the lined piece
 and the lining
 the chimney brick with the lichen patterning sits in the sun
it has become the perch of some bird--lots of what we as kids used to call bird-do 
but still color that inspires me.
 i have been making some contact prints with the square flax sheets
and cloth, this is old cotton 
 here you can see a flax square
and the red daylily spent blossoms.
  the flax square still wet
 concrete steps are the perfect background, if narrow.

 and i made some more linen paper.


a.  plain raw flax paper                                           b. linen fabric, my sister's pants by Flax
c.  two sheets of the above with fabric inclusion    d. linen paper (made solely from above 
 i decided to travel to maine
and then i undecided
 and took a happy walk yesterday evening
 overlooked by luna
 below that sky was the july harvest baled for the neighbor's cattle.
first time i ever remember it being cut almost on time.
evening shadows.

 two pair of little ruby throated hummingbirds played at the feeders 
this morning. 

 i'm wearing cotton socks on my feet today, 
celebrating happy respite from the humid heat.
over on fb i found a photo of two of my favorite australians
that i just had to share.
colleen and brian
collen of the astonishing hair, brian enwrapped in a hat and scarf,
probably needled by colleen.
and the title above? 
i was going to maine today.
but i decided not to. i love my maine family
i wanted to see them and 
see the ocean and
visit the arctic museum
i wanted to stay home, 
with the round bales and the hummingbirds
and the cresent moon
and the blessed cool weather, more.
i am off to make more prints and paper
and hang out my laundry and go to town
to resume mail delivery.
i'm home for a while.


sometimes i remember to make a record
of what i'm doing.

why, i wonder,
because it's like this: all the making of all the years of all the ideas
concertina themselves
(which is also why i forget things...)
become one thing only: 
a life in a place.
the new place i call home
(while i still live in the old place called home)
is rich in ridges.
concertina landscape
this ridge i've cleaned out,
the slope is steeper than it looks,
and my partner moved some rocks that are available 
to become part of a garden.
 it's resting now, as winter comes on. 
that meadow 
the ridge points to,
i've seen a coyote lope through
pausing now and again one morning
and i've watched three deer, no four
make their way up to the ridge, 
over and around it.
i saw a mink scurry past the tip of this ridge.
here and gone, quick quick!
today, as yesterday,
i walked around home, old home
gethering greens
and tiny blossoming goldenrods, three fern species,
wild grapes, applemint
rose, honeysuckle, and raspberry leaves
and one rose hip
thick staghorn sumac antlers.
the goldenrod flowers shock me
blossoming on the regenerated growth
after the august field mow.
all this abundance in the middle 
of november!
all this abundance when
it's likely as not frozen and gray and brown and harsh.
today i walked briefly
tired after six hours of printing,
and i saw myself being watched
by a young, furry and large-eared doe.
a this year fawn, 
mostly grown up
attending to me ("is she safe, is she crazy?")
as i went up my walk:
"hello, little one, i'm going in the house, 
eat well and safely there
my friend."
she stood alert,
watching as i went indoors.