A poet has my heart.
He keeps it between the pages of a leather-bound book
IN THE TURNING of this year from green to red, I have found a treasure. A treasure long dreamed of, that was hidden in the stories I imagined as a child, and in the woods of my young pondering, and in the margins just beyond the edges of my paintings.
Here in the umber days of autumn, I sit smiling, astounded and thankful at this wonderful heart harvest. How life's wheel turns!
Nature's red congregation joins with my heart in gleeing:
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And as the green of spring and the red of love mix in the paint tray of this wonderful landscape of my days, I wonder about those two circles: Are they magician's rings? Are they my new friend the number 8? Are they ∞ - the lemniscate or infinity symbol, for balance of forces?
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pressed petal-like under paper.
Word-etched pages of his
clasp me in translucence
like breath between praying palms.
He gave me his heart too, this spring.
And I keep it in the paint box
Word-etched pages of his
clasp me in translucence
like breath between praying palms.
He gave me his heart too, this spring.
And I keep it in the paint box
as my twenty seventh colour,
an ink-blood dearness
that curtains over white page:
Aurora Borealis to my snow.
that curtains over white page:
Aurora Borealis to my snow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IN THE TURNING of this year from green to red, I have found a treasure. A treasure long dreamed of, that was hidden in the stories I imagined as a child, and in the woods of my young pondering, and in the margins just beyond the edges of my paintings.
Here in the umber days of autumn, I sit smiling, astounded and thankful at this wonderful heart harvest. How life's wheel turns!
Nature's red congregation joins with my heart in gleeing:
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And roses from a bride's bouquet... passed to me with a wink ;)
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Yes! Love has come to my hearth and heart, and his dear name is Tom :)
He is indeed a poet! Let me show you some of his beautiful words. Here on this leaf-browning equinox, I'll balance the scales of the year with poetry and prose of his that speak so eloquently of Spring:
He is indeed a poet! Let me show you some of his beautiful words. Here on this leaf-browning equinox, I'll balance the scales of the year with poetry and prose of his that speak so eloquently of Spring:
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I cannot say in words how deeply his wordsmithing and his arrival have affected me. I am stunned and grinning and Happy Beyond Happy! And we look forward with delight to word and image weaving to add to the already bubbling Baba Yaga's cauldron of forest-sleeping, moor-trekking, shooting star-gazing, fireside-storytelling, music-making, home-building. With us in our little nest lives Macha the hound with a piece of the Other World in her left eye, who has rather won my heart too.
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My September birthday this year was spent walking across the moors with my love to two rings of stones, edged by wild horses and windblown tussocks. These are the Grey Wethers, a rare double stone circle side by side. There we drank chai from a thermos and embraced the winds of autumn arriving across the moor.
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My September birthday this year was spent walking across the moors with my love to two rings of stones, edged by wild horses and windblown tussocks. These are the Grey Wethers, a rare double stone circle side by side. There we drank chai from a thermos and embraced the winds of autumn arriving across the moor.
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And as the green of spring and the red of love mix in the paint tray of this wonderful landscape of my days, I wonder about those two circles: Are they magician's rings? Are they my new friend the number 8? Are they ∞ - the lemniscate or infinity symbol, for balance of forces?
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I stand on this autumnal hill of my 31 years and breathe in deep the air of life and Unfolding Story in Dartmoor's mists and I breathe out a shout full to brimming with joy, and thanks, and wonder rekindled, and love.
And, smiling, I imagine a bird in my mind's eye, soaring high above this life-hill of mine, writing loops in the sky like this: ∞
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