Flurry. Noise. Chaos. Colors.

​Flight.

This piece has been a process, but I reckon they are all, aren’t they. First started in 2019, held in time through all sorts of happenings; it’s base textures and colors waiting. Or me waiting? Putting it off? Frozen in not wanting to change for fear of ruining it? But take the ego out, and instead allow in the story and movement.

Shall I, we, sit in fear of what might happen, or shall we go forth and adjust and learn and … do.

So, a story of movement, undefinable, flight and grounded-ness, accompaniment amid the chaos.

Can you imagine the light touch of the blue jay across the broad back of the horse, the points of the claws pressing down through the thick coat right before the wings spread and there is left only a remnant of feeling?

Can you also imagine the long winter hair, warm and inviting, the transfer of energy on those narrow bird toes? And the surge of power gathered under those toes.

I’m appreciating the flow of size, power, and strength in this piece. Horses, for all of their size and mass, are really quite sensitive and light creatures. And birds, how small and nimble, yet they have the power of flight.

Anyhow, such as it is, it is almost done. Maybe a few strokes here, there, and then to fly.
​

​I live where the deer walk on my roof.
  Thud, thud.
      Pitter, patter.
         Skitter and jump.

And where they bed down for the night behind my house,
    Their bodies creating circle presses of grass,
          Their hooves pressing hearts into the ground.
                 Their large ears and velvet eyes following me.

I also live where my dog
    Comes up over the hill
         Dragging the carcass
                 Of the little yearling doe
                       
That has been hanging around.

The one with the raggedy coat,
       And the big belly,
                 And the steady stare that doesn’t run
                        Fast enough.

I live where the coyotes yips wake me,
     Where the pups tumble and play,
                 And the adults trot through the pasture,
                       Paws sinking into the soft ground, noses searching.

I live where the night envelopes the owl hoots,
       The chorus of sundown yowls and barks,
                 My dog’s efforts to join the song.
​                         The hunters hunting.

I live where my dog crunches the bones 
      Of that little deer, 
                So gleefully enjoying 
                     The remnants of a life.

​And how can I love this when it breaks my heart?

When my fragility is tangled in the life and death

And what I love ends what I love?