Friday, March 26, 2010

Snow drops

Tiny white flowers have spoken with out a voice.

The gestures are unmistakable.

The slightest bowing of the head.

Such grace in something so simple.

As the snowdrops fall upon the morning,

they whispers to me softly.

Accepting that which I have chosen.

Allowing the wind to blow above,

and the sun to shine from beneath.

Week 13. Bowing

I’m beginning to discover that gestures in plants are abundant in the springtime. Snowdrop flowers seem to bow their heads just like a person. When you think about it, bowing is a universal gesture. So many cultures and religions incorporate it into their rituals. So what does it represent? To some it is a submission to god, an act of respect and gratitude. But bowing is also quite introspective. It is this reflective place that conveys humility and compassion. In fact, to bow may also show that you see yourself as an equal, the same as any living thing. Yes, all of these ideas are surely connected, respect, gratitude and humility, they related to each other like brothers and sisters. I guess that’s what has drawn me in to think about this curious gesture. Sometimes there is comfort in finding all these interconnected ideas hidden among the dangling faces of the flowers.

Saturday, March 20, 2010


The colors have shifted.

I’ve spotted the first pink of the year.

She’s broken through from the magnolia branches

I’ve arranged the sage green vase.

The quite of that day

wrapped my thoughts in blues and grays.

Slowly swirling ideas of possibility

through out the apartment.

It is but once in the year

when the notion of spring make its grand entrance.

Whether through crocuses or sunshine.

Makes no difference.

Those that peek through shift the focus

from the depths of the ground

to the gentle smile the bud.

Week 12. Decision making.

Signs of spring are certainly evident. I’ve been watching the flowers these days, looking for gestures. The bud certainly makes a gesture as it peeks from the branch. It seems to be slow and discerning, almost shy in a way. Watching these buds makes me wonder how a plant knows when it’s time to appear? Plants must be aware of so many things. They must feel the warmth of the sun as well as safety of the ground. So maybe plants are doing the same as us. Trying our best to take in all the changing variables and at the same time trying to to listen to the earths cues.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Twisting tiny vines

Twisting tiny vines consume the branch ahead.

It’s a cluster of soft mustard colored dots

with slightly opened shell pods, bowing toward the sun.

I stop and try to release it.

But I have no tools.

I have nothing but my hands to try and break it free.

I tug and pull.

Searching for an opening in which to rip it apart.

The tiny vines seem to be the strongest though.

They hold on to the broken branch for dear life.

Then I see a spot in which to break a piece,

and the whole lot is mine.

I have won my prize,

And I walk home with both my arms full.

When I get home I sort and group.

Inspecting my find.

Selecting the proper vessel and the right placement.

But when I finish I see the left over pieces,

the dirt and debris,

the small fragments which have fallen to the tabletop.

I wipe the table clean,

carrying the handful of wispy seeds and crumbs to the garbage.

But instead I see the window.

With one hand I pull up the pane and then the screen.

And out fly the soft remains,

Like ashes to the wind.

My head peers out the window, hovering from above in midair,

As I watch them fall gently to the earth.

Week 11. Regeneration.

The broken branches from the last big snowfall are all over my neighborhood. I’ve been on a mission to find the ones with some gorgeous facet so I can bring them home to admire. Maybe it’s my way of continuing their legacy, an homage to the tree from which it was born. I found one type of tree in particular that had such lovely pods and incubated seeds. The seeds were soft like velour and the color was that of grainy mustard. After I finished arranging the branches in a vase I began clearing up the table and noticed many tiny pieces, which had fallen off in the process. It’s always the leftover pieces I have the hardest time parting with. Maybe it my packrat ways or maybe it’s my need to find potential in everything. Even within my artwork, when I collage it’s those piece I cut from that seem to be the freshest. I have cigar boxes full of those scraps, just because I can’t let them go.

Anyway, about the branches- Seeds need to find their way to soil in order to live and flourish so could the same be true for us? Tangles, which are released are the beginning of this cycle of change. In the process there may be remnant, fallen pieces but these pieces have the potential for growth, proving that even in our everyday lives there is always the possibility of regeneration.

Friday, March 5, 2010


I passed a chestnut tree by the side of the road.

So many nuts had dropped after the rain.

Some lay there flattened,

few remained unscathed.

I went searching through the debris.

I wanted something whole;

something precious and fragile.

If you’ve ever seen a chestnut,

it truly is a work of god.

A spinney porcupine,

with a soft, smooth underbelly.

As I filled my pockets

I was aware of the piercing edges,

collecting the cracked and prickly fragments.

For chestnuts are clever with their protective ways.

Week 10. Protection.

I have a collection of chestnuts I keep in a bowl by my window. I could not help but notice how the outside of the nut is so different from the inside. As I inspected each piece, I found that chestnuts are all about their protection. There are so many points facing outward. It’s nature’s way of warding off anyone from coming too close. Yes, in winter we protect ourselves from the harsh weather, that is certain, but in many ways we protect our soft vulnerable center all year around. When I was collecting chestnuts that day I sought out the precious unopened chestnuts, the ones that remained intact. But in retrospect, I began to wonder if the broken pieces and fragments were just as exquisite simply because they allowed me to see the smooth soft texture that lay inside.