Sunday, January 22, 2012
Has the journey ended? Has it just transformed...? To travel in ones own space, from house to yard to pasture, down to the mailbox, out to the chicken coop. Leaping from dirty coffee cup to dusty house plant, spanning the space from window ledge to table top to traverse between the crumbs of last nights dinner. Time, too, is relevant. The rythm of light and darkness, moon and star, sun crossing the sky (now so far to the south), seeds germinating, growing, setting seed, dying, the shift of birds clocking in to relieve the previous crew. A log burns, the eggnog goes sour, the frozen bowl of dog water thaws in the thin winter sun, its time to cut my bangs again.