from my booklet “words within 2018”
a winter of rain here, a winter of snow where you are both of us slow down, mother natures' way allowing you to sit with yourself a while there, be it inspiration or boredom or some combination of both afteryou have twirled and pulled at your hair a while, holding stray strands between proximal phalanx of both hands, you may just take a few loosened tangles for beading, for inclusion into your nest of loosely wound reeds, yarn, feather, dried grasses, blossoms, and other found objects, your collections you weave into and through the grey days or in the coming months of quiet hearing words out of silence, hearing words in the way the wind slams fragments of broken branches, loose dirt against the cedar siding against the vibrating metal of the fireplace flu, against the windows shaking, hearing the words that you now put to paper that haven't been used as tinder for the fire, yet as you stare out the window at the endless grey and white between trunks of black and silver adler there is satisfaction in knowing that this slowing, this quiet contemplation is mother nature's intention
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