Thursday, October 29, 2009

Transition Towns

I can't stop thinking about what I've heard about the equivalency of the energy in one tank of gas compared to simple, straightforward human labor--of the fetch wood/carry water kind. One tank equals 4 years of one human laboring. Four years.

When I told Cian this the other day, he sighed relief at the fact we had fossil fuels. We now live at a standard higher than any other society has before on earth because of oil. Just so we haven't painted ourselves into a corner.

I got the one tank/four years information from a video on 'transition villages'--an intriguing idea regarding peak oil issues that is starting to gain momentum in England, and also here in North Carolina.

See a video on transition towns here. I love that they bring humor into it--Americans can be kinda sanctimonious when it comes to environmental/cultural issues. Simple solutions are best, no?

Monday, October 26, 2009

chalk monsters

I love this photo of Cian and a neighbor's dog--the surprise of spots of sun shine.

And a lithe alien, from the mind of Luke...

Sam Knob on a sunny fall day

Leisa & I nibbled on mountain ash fruits & took in that feeling of being on top of the world in this odd, magically beautiful place... That's a huge chunk of quartz that I'm leaning on--you can see bits peeping out from the hills in the 360 degree view from the top of Sam Knob, just off the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

trees in flight

This week I saw a little dogwood tree crammed with what I think were starlings--there were more birds than leaves on the tree. I knew it would happen, and it did--a huge burst of wings as they darted upward in a flash. I don't think I could describe the sound it made. I was standing only about 20 feet away. Wow.

Which of the birds decide when and where to go? Is there a leader? What if they truly move as one being?

fading in concentric rings/a swoop of starlings forms a joyous backdrop/against the evening sky/rejoicing in the vigorous/breeze and the readymade roosts/of patient trees

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

as she speaks her words ring clear and bright

Sounding out across the crystalline
green of distance
where sweet encouragement never fails
to whet her tongue
and loosen the darkening
stars set like diamonds in the depths
of immobile coal

Here emerges an eye, like a glassy chrysalis
umbilical, newborn to breast
in clean parthenogenesis she releases
her own diaspora
bread unto water
wine in the desert
light into darkness

Like the eye of a slow moving hurricane
hollow, hooded threat
of a bombed out building
like a white sheet rumpled
and now snapped to tautness
she awakens the moment a word
sounds out like a bell from her breath

Monday, October 19, 2009


The Lake Eden Arts Festival seemed a little less crowded this time--maybe it was the forecast of 35 degree weather on Saturday night? To stay warm, we danced to the Squirrel Nut Zippers, Los Amigos Invisibles, and Zap Mama, then Cian and I snuggled together in my little mummy bag. It was cozy & warm, though my head kept feeling the outside chill, while I heard snowflakes dissolve on the roof of the tent. Sunday dawned clear and we enjoyed sitting in the sun eating crepes, hula hooping, doing some acrobatics, & listening to Mamadou Diabate, Billy Jonas, and Arrested Development (while we broke camp across the lake.) I think the thing the kids enjoyed most was being free to run around with friends, play around the streams and in the 'forts' of trees and shrubs. Idyllic times.

Red Hat Ramblers

High above Camp Rockmont and the hubbub of LEAF is a ridgeline that includes Cedar Cliff & Eden Rock, at about 3800'. We couldn't quite hear the music that far up, but the cold wind had some snow flurries...BRRR. Holly, Ed & I returned to the Festival in enough time to catch the tail end of the Red Stick Ramblers, with some Cajun dancing. I've always wanted to do this hike--only wish Leisa had been there too!

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Obsidian Collective

I was in a fog yesterday & found it really hard to concentrate, maybe because I haven't written a story in a couple of weeks, or maybe I simply should be a professional daydreamer and nothing concrete. I caught Andrea on the phone just as she was arriving at work in San Francisco, thinking she might have a solution--a walk around the block did the trick and I was able to stitch together 1800 words to complete what might approximate quality journalism (thanks Andrea!) The story is about a new film production company in town, find them here:
My story will be in Sunday's Times-News...

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Professional daydreamer

Last night I dreamed I proclaimed myself as a professional daydreamer, but no one listened. I'm sure the French philosopher Gaston Bachelard would have listened, and recognized all sorts of modern-day applications for my vocation, that with a little practical training could be developed for fields such as aeronautics, urban planning, architecture, conservation, and of course, journalism and poetry. Oneiric acrobatics...

This is a fine place for daydreaming: seal rocks in San Francisco... I took the photo a few years back.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

No comment

I realized recently that the few friends that I believe read this blog on a somewhat regular basis are not the kind of people to leave a comment on anything--being private and not inclined to voice their opinions (in a public way, at least.) Two close friends my age don't even have Internet access--no email, no computer. Of course they have never seen this blog. And that's just fine.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

In today's mail

Look what arrived via the mailman today! The one little luxury I decided to indulge in this fall is buying a few books of poems, that can't be found at the library, etc. Any other material goods, like clothes, will be from the thrift stores.
I only clued into Craig Arnold through the latest Poetry magazine--he was a poet about my age who met a tragic death on a volcano in Japan, this spring.

I've also bought books by Pattiann Rogers and Sarah Lindsay, which I'm enjoying. More of my own poems are in the works, BTW.

A Pouncing Bobcat

For two nights in a row this week I have dreamed of bobcats. I know this is telling me something as I rarely dream things twice or more. The first dream bobcat, looking like a mix between a Great Horned Owl and a regular bobcat--the fur was all prickly, standing up, especially around the ears, so the cat looked almost feathery, and quite regal. It materialized before me, and I was amazed to see it. The online Dream Moods dictionary (which I think is a good reference) says that: To see a bobcat in your dream, suggests that you need to pay close attention to what you see and hear in your daily life.

It might have been the morning after this first dream that I had the silent realization that I will do my best not to multitask this week, and beyond... Well, the first day went well, and it really seemed that my day went into balance, my mind more focused and ready to take on that special chaos that kind of spontaneously crops up--I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. If there is a bane to my life, it would have to be this busyness.

I even posted the idea of 'not multitasking' to one of those *social network sites* to see what my friends thought. Only one person responded--my twin sister. Hmmm. Is no one else thinking about this?

In the second dream the same ultra-feathery/furry bobcat appeared, moving around this time (instead of poised elegantly in profile like before) and like a muscular feline dart, bounded right toward me, into my left ear--it simply dematerialized around my ear. I wasn't frightened, and even wondered about my lack of fear in the dream.

It is time to be still, and Listen...

Monday, October 5, 2009

Clouded Jade

After searching for rare flowers, wild onions, and ferns last Saturday at Alex's Ford, we took a dip at sundown in the Green River--this time the river was the color of clouded jade. Cold and getting clearer, but the bottom was still a mysterious landscape... I couldn't get the seedpods in focus on Tom's camera, but the mown field has a luminous, numinous look, behind the box elder, no? Happily ate wild persimmons and fox grapes as the sun went down on this pretty corner of Polk Co...