bound by freedom

of being free

to feel resistance fully

not being chased by moment

after moment, after moment

moments in which i can hide

nowhere to go

nothing to do

following lines

lines taking shape

it is so heavy

the lines, the shapes, the moments

infinitely

I can not ever finish it

my angel self falls apart

because the next moment already overtook the previous

my heart a thousand pieces of glass

floating in outer space

I will never recover them

the pressure on the chest

the space to see them

as shining stars

black holes

light years apart

I sit here with my cat

she is surprisingly understanding

it hurts

these shards of glass

trying to be contained

and i am not talking loss

it is the soft 

early evening light

there is no way to hold onto that

the sound of scraping metal against ice

no movement

the pain old old 

very old

the stillness

only moving through the ticking of time

easy, easing into it

when a shard of glass

cuts through the skin

there really is

only an opening up

the blood

to flow freely

where ever it wants to go

not contained by one body

or even two

a moment in time

the red against the crystal light

the dark spruce trees

they that weigh heavy on my shoulders

the lightness of it all when lifted

pseudonym

Pseudoflower

would you know it.

http://kamounlab.dreamhosters.com/pdfs/PLOSONE_2013b.pdf

this little rockcress, tries to be a little yellow rose (potentilla)

I took a little break tonight from writing the book. nanowrimo. which is not the title, but my inspiration.

the book is coming along quite nicely, and if it ever finish it, 

 it will be a rockcress that tries to be a yellow rose

my pseudonym could

be 

puccina monoica 

so the book will gather rust before anyone knows i wrote it

NaNoWriMo

I am writing a book.
Mildly putting it, it is a daunting task ( to use writers' lingo).
I can barely make the amount of required daily word count.
No time to; reread what i wrote, know my characters, no suggestion of some sort of plan, and then there is keeping organized, barely time for that. The characters keep going off in directions i don't want them to go going into some sort of main stream, them wanting to be stereotypical, where i have to rewrite their adventures to have them be totally beautiful uniquely their own selves.
In down time i read Bill Bryson. NOT GOOD i love his book so much , it makes me laugh so much

It makes me feel useless, even trying.
One of his lines i just read, that made me crack up:
"All that is required of you is your willingness to trudge"
Yes Bill, that is easy said when your in the woods. I am good in the woods,
Not here, not on this totally unfamiliar terrain
 of writing a book.

I bare

                                                                                                          ( spring picture)

went to my lover today 
you know her
she the one that flows 
languidly
gracefully
there was ice white
with snow and grey wetness
the dark water
and the sounds
the sounds i didn't know 
would scare me
slightly
creatures in the water 
or beyond
i watched the ice floes
for a long time
it seemed that they
would build onto 
the forming ice bridge
the river freezing over 
while i touched
she touched me
but they did not 
these ice floes
they would first build up
and then duck
 under
to appear 
on the other end
and sail off
and taken in 
by the ripples
of the current
i will never know 
if you lie to me
to protect me
or yourself
i feel cold 
in your water
flow flow flow
flow with me
melt me
melt me
sunshine on the water
or even if
snowflakes were falling
we are all one

a place

Sometimes you  briefly meet someone

and you know you will meet again.

You know there is so much more.

But you don't know 

when or if

 or ever.

the wonderful world of October

I might just love October most of all

My feathers wet

The rocks exposed

And the lake,

the freezing and the melting

a wind instrument

making the most beautiful

music

a giant gobbler

a giant stone gobbler laying languidly in the forest behind my house. I assume he has been laying there for years, gobbling away. I just never noticed him, he so quiet, i might have walked by him once, but didn't pay much attention

You know that is really strange, i just looked on google earth, and this rock is 0.85 km away from the house. That is not very far. And i walk around here for 20 years.
Is that what the forest does, it hides things?
Yet i do know that i do not often go to that sidehill,
it is beautiful steep, deep moss, forested slope.

The gobbler he eats little girls and boys fingers, as you can see.

I go all other directions quite regular, to the lake, to the beach lines, to the hills, to the creek, in the other forests, but hardly ever there.

I am also in place now in another place i hardly ever go...in a place of health issues. It constricts me in ways that i am hardly ever constricted in. First i found it kind of interesting, that somehow being preoccupied with this, it took my mind away from real issues, almost like i imagine mind altering drugs will do.

twin deer

..two years and a bit, old. Today on my bicycle i ran into the two twin deer. We saw them first in 2013 with their mom, last summer still with there mom, and now for the first time i saw them on their own, together. I was only able to get one in the photograph, they both look like female deer.  Very healthy looking. most beautiful.
                                                             twin deer 2013
                                                                   
                                                       and here Sept 30 2014

and all three photographs taken in basically the same spot.

isn't that something.

We have on occasion seen them in our garden too.

old stone

longing for the castle

the roughness of the old

stone against my skin

the coolness of the moss

overgrown walls

the heat of the sun

the enchantress

did she lay down

knowingly

or are we all under our own spell

the lawn

lilacs and all

a garden in a tree stump

click click click
i love the sound of high heels
of course here on the dirt
you can't hear it
hey beauty
i talk to my big lilac bush blooming
how did you get here?
i can't remember ever planting you
between the wild willows and the aspen
my skirt flares up
and there another friendly face
a beautiful elegant birch
i think you are the reason
there are yellow sapsuckers nesting here
i know when you were planted
we found you years ago in the forest on the north side
you took, you liked it here
you could just say you were a good actor
if you are an actor that is
or if you were sincere
you  say
that was me then
and this is now
i have changed
i put all the pressure on my toes
to not let the heels sink in
you asked me why
i tell you why
especially because it is not functional
that is the reason why
and you could just say
it is because you're primal
you live life from the gut
and there are two pines
planted at the same time
one is 15 feet tall
the other barely grew
i enjoy my forest
my specially for me spruce forest
it doesn't matter what you say
and that i can't hear the sound
of my own heels
what matters is
that the sapsucker
found a mate
and the peewees are nesting in a poplar tree
i dress myself with roses
and my heart
it is forever free

still caught in your web

the distant hills soft
softer as on normal days
the new leaves long turned dark green
the meadow (where we lay)
gained purple and yellow
as being touched
as if it noticed the change
just in time a moving out of the way
instantly
the crashing thunder
as you fell from the sky
a down pour
how could i have known?
as the sun kept shining
dark grey thoughts opposing
the hammering continues
love songs keep playing
latadadadi
we pick the petals from a daisy just to see

a summer as no other

And this summer began almost in April.
And it is not just the swimming.
Outside all day
Walking leisurely half naked in the heat.
Summer smells
No mosquitoes to speak of
just butterflies and bees and yes some pesky houseflies.
We are outside till late at night..
And the sun always out and as usual always up.
Blue skies and just a little breeze for perfection
The leaves i forgot when they appeared,
but full green was reached in just a few days.
Plants are growing inches per day.
flowers blooming everywhere.
And it is not even June!
Winter is this year truly far away.

for R

hey babe

you gotta live it babe

love it

high frequency sensations

red hot feelings in the low light night

spiders reflecting an orange glow

dark blue ripples

silver strands

the sand is hot

the way it should be 

always

white granite polished like the old sink

you are so beautiful

like the zen beaches of black rocks in the sand

like the deep moss forest where the spiders live

the sink is in the old french house

where we were supposed to live

you the mountain

i the lake

i caress your feet

but you stand above me

towering

out of reach

if it wasn't for the elegant lupine

reaching over, laying low

always, always the sand saves me

mountains, falling rock

rolling boulders

shards

gravel

all in perfect order down to the finest grain

i don't want to know now, that one day it will be clay 

clay again

remember i was born from the clay

and you?

where do i look for you when it is our time again

still i vibrate

still caught in your web

the grotto

of course i am the water

how did i miss

that i flow gently over the seabed

dotted with tiny flowers pink and purple

how far away i hear a bird?

through the sound of the sea

swimming in me

are creatures i have never seen

just felt when passing through

when i look up

bluegreen algae my lashes

i see you on the distant shore

mirroring your face

unaware that it is me

nothing do we know

me the sea

you

it's if i was a young girl that lives in the forest

Mourning Cloaks

The Naked Eye

Like all living creatures, I had a mother and father; but I never knew them. I know that they met each other last summer; for several days they flew side by side and together sipped from the same flowers. Then for several hours they united. During this union my father pressed the tip of his belly against my mother; it is in this way he was able to slip tiny grains into her body, grains so small no person could see them with his naked eye.

—Animals and Their Families: The Butterfly

In a book by Martha Baillie
I wish i would have written it....
on that day

when i wrote that slightly perverted poem
Martha describes it more with the softness i felt when laying beside them, witnessing such wonder, to me she also captures the slight feeling of being lost... which i felt on that day, when i was aching for simple loving.

covered up in purple

His gaze straight ahead.

Batholith tattoos.

Triceps.

The green speculum showing.

A small crevice.

Suddenly the front wheels of the jeep sink in.

Descending.

 After bouncing through the desert,

 the ground littered with dense tufts of grass,

first looking out over the land from a high ridge. 

Now

up to the axles in mud.

In that instant he remembered;

the slivers being pulled out of festering skin.

A baby? 

A baby? they ask

in surprise.

 Relief

The pendulum slowly swinging.

A real life, soft, pink, gurgling, baby in a cradle!?

The laughter, the pure joy.

Everything coming together.

 An abbreviation of events.

 Infinite softness experienced.

butterflywings

i tremble

 and wish to flutter

 to live lightly

spread my wings and fly

leave it all behind

today i cry

 again

today 

i watched two Mourning Cloaks have sex

i laid in the gravel beside them 

for an hour

eventually i left

they did not

HOPE

Recently, in the last year maybe, i have felt more concerned about our planet and it's inhabitants.

Now, the 17th of April 2015,  Mary and i climbed up Kusawa ridge. We knew what we were looking for, but didn't know if we would find it, we were open to the possibility that we were too early. Yet there was no doubt in our mind that the douglasias would bloom again. When not that day they would this month be there blooming.
Somehow we were rewarded with the best spectacle of douglasias ever. From the moment we stepped onto the ridge till we reached the snowfields, the ground was dotted with pink. At times having to watch our step, as not to step on them.

When you consider the last photo, the condition we were hiking in, to me it is a miracle in the biggest essence of the word, that such phenomena exists.

And that this is not one unique, single mountain ridge with such beauty, i am sure there are many many more.

Truly we have nothing to worry about, when such inundated glory still takes place every single moment unconcerned with what do or don't, we are not so important.

je t'aime

 of course i went back

 always always i will go back

 sanguinity

 i paint like crazy

blood red

the crocuses did bloom

just not were i looked

dancing bare feet on bare rock

my true love is the batholith

 the deep deep batholith

the granite

the veins of shale

the porcupine was gone 

an empty nest

the raven never came

for how long will i crack open?

porcupine

It is lovely to live where i live, and maybe i should write again like i used to, about my excitement of the gentleness of my wandering in the woods. Today extra sensual,  the softness of early spring, i followed a warm gully ( alas no crocuses)  but came out by a small cave, and peeking in,  yes a porcupine. I didn't see a lot of activity around the cave, like a trail leading into it, or trees being gnawed. Was this her winter den? Or was she or he just hiding from me. I do think they could live in such dens in winter. Porcupines do not really hibernate. She moved slightly, not sleeping. Will she have a young in there?  I will visit the place again, when i can find it. I did NOT make note of my exact location, on purpose, i feared i would go see her everyday if i had. 5 km away i did come upon this totally stripped tree, i read porcupines like to eat it all once they find a good food source. I suspect rabbits having eaten the bark of this tree, yet i had never seen them doing such a thorough job. All i could think  was whoever it was, they were inspired by Brian @Talk from the Timber.

so many thoughts this morning

 does anyone know where my original thoughts are?

the ones that started this blog.

This is a real question, someone said she read them here, but i can't find them.

inspired by waves of crows

a short story

And a door closed behind me. The man in the room barely visible, silent. I more felt then saw that he raised his left arm.The black wing darkened the whole ceiling which had only been visible as a lighter darkness before. I wasn't scared. This was not a situation to be scared. I knew the darkness quite well. I had heard the click of the door falling into it's lock many times this year. For months now i would visit this house at night.

Sometimes during the day in the hard light of bright sunlight and heat, blue sky and artificial green grass, i would pull out a black piece of down from my hair. Like a little stick covered in lichen from the days when i lived in the forest, my knees always wet from the moss. Now my bare feet had black soles and hard cracked callouses on the edges of my heels.

I stood there for a long time, trying to control my breathing, so it sounded if i was relaxed, if all was as usual.

Suddenly, a screech close to me. I was startled by the scratchy dark call of a raven. I heard the heavy sound of it's wingbeat as it flew away from the window. It must have been sitting on the window sill, without me noticing it. I took that moment to move one foot. A step closer to birdman. Half bird, half man. One black wing on the left, and on the right side a normal arm. A shaman stuck in transformation. The inner circle completed. Once a great grandfather spirit, now more a helpless hungry boy. Yet i knew that during the day he managed quite well. Cutting wood, hauling water,cooking soup from the bones of songbirds that he lured into his house through the open window. The birds gullible, not even deterred by the crimson red curtains, which were being pulled out and let back down, rhythmically, by the draft, as if the house itself was breathing.

Why does he let me visit every night? I do not pleasure him, not sexually. My heart starts beating faster, louder, pounding. I have to move quickly now, and act fast. He will know already that something is up.I can hear his slow brain forming a thought. A thought of how to prevent me from doing the thing we never expected.

We both did not know it had come to this.

crows

his black wings

building a nest

not for me.

my wings,

20 feet wingspan and white.

really?

roaring laughter.

20 feet?

white?

when soaring above clouds

nothing can be less insignificant

puny and unnoticed.

only yesterday

i realized

how much better i can be.

and to think

that i thought 

i was something

.....

Turkish Fruit

And when the mountains break the clouds
mirrors reflecting silver
blue skies
Josephina Seraphine Empress Queen and Lady Lola
Kali Kali Napoleon and Lord Xian
their most intimate body parts
she on her high horse
his white shirt wide open
vulvas dripping wet
semen sticking to our legs

all night we dance
lavish parties, turkish fruit
rolling from the horn of plenty
blue silk dresses, violet tulle, white brocade
whale bones snapping
propinquitious laughing
propensities that keeps us on the island
the choice is sand
you either swim or scorch
and again always always
he lifts us of our feet
doom descends but temporarily
i endure your Elba
because i am Aquitaine 
Royalty
Ethelred Kunigunde there is war
the breaking clouds
And soon the storm is over

Flaky

My friend, she must think me flaky. But i like it light. i like the book i started writing ( yes:) to be light, my articles are light and surely my writings here, they never go to terrible things. You know sometimes i fall apart from loving too much. How could i handle darkness? My mom told me today as she has told me before, you were either great joy or deeply silent, grim or grave. I wasn't there to observe it, so i don't know what i was, also i have nothing to compare me too. If depression entered in our genes it didn't come in through mom. I know the great joy part, i can relate to that. What can i say when i love too much? and... we had so much fun last night, another friend the one who shares my lightness. I friggin love it how we are. You do not see it in movies or on tv,  i wonder if one can read it in books? How can you write when... you know? there is an edge in you in me, in all the others, the missing link. Don and i, where are so good these days. We have a weekly date now, friday nights he rubs my feet while we watch  a dvd. Not willingly. But it was my ultimatum, "you are my husband, you can friggin once a week rub my feet. " that's it. And he does. It is amazing. Not that he hardly ever rubs my feet, i might even get more pedicural attention, from him, than most. I need so much loving, i don't understand, why i am not adored every single moment of the day. How can you think it is okay to not worship me continuously. Already if you gave me just a little more as you are giving me now, i would be happy. No not depressed, i haven't been for a long time, too much energy running through me continuously these days. We laughed so much, Don and i too tonight, about the movie. but i fall apart for touch, my skin is never saturated enough, i don't know why i choose the desert to be my favorite landscape, the 40 below my temperature. To have a friend is such a blessing, to have a human being  around ones own being for even a little bit of the time. I hear Don flip the pages. he loves that book that my not so flaky friend gave me. I could not possibly read it, actually i know my mother likes tragic books too, my light friend likes horror movies. I don't get it. Like i say, when i love a person, which i often do, i do have a good gene for loving easily. So to continue about that thought i had, that everybody in real life is rather weird, never in movies, they always play their part perfect. People must have tried to make movies that portray real people, but maybe even than it becomes a character. Never in my life. I don't even know me, least of all do i know you. Yet i love you with all my heart, i would do anything for you, but somehow i always end up with lovers who do not need my constant devotion, "just let me read." Please feel blessed when you have a lover that always needs you, that you can dote on him or her everywhere and all the time. I somehow never catch those kind of guys. My life is perfect, can you imagine, the cold night, the warm fire, candlelight and wine keys clicking, papers swishing..... If only your skin would touch mine.... It is a rather screaming tantalizing horror feeling, i won't say it, but you know my mantra from... that dark side.. that i know, just not very well.

hahaha if you get the joke of posting such a screaming picture now, you maybe do understand me a little bit.