and also... this.
because the unseasonable snow began to fall
just as I finished the willow vessel,
the white stuff accumulating
as afternoon faded into evening--
to the late-season leaves still clinging
to the fairy-tale-thick lilacs
that surround our house--
lilacs so old and leggy and dense
that from May through October,
the house vanishes
behind blossoms and leaves--
leaves that relax the hot summer sun
and filter the dry dust of August--
leaves and boughs that are unused
to such unexpected weight
so that later in the evening,
after the power went out,
the cracking and crashing
was loud, and worrisome.
what else do you have in store--
a seven year apprenticeship to a blacksmith
to get the necessary iron shoes
for climbing a glass mountain?
and though the power (on again overnight)
popped off again with an impressive pre-dawn flash
as I shoveled the bits of sidewalk I could access
and contemplated the tangled mess everywhere else
I saw, in the dim light,
that we had gotten off easy.
but it was still a Sarah-sized project,
something I could tackle
with shovel, loppers
bow saw, a bit of persistence
and three pairs of wet mittens.
we could once again
use our front door,
and I even snatched a moment
for a photo or two
when the light
was particularly lovely--
grateful, that day, for a bit of a break
as well as a strong-enough back.
to remind me that though the lilac
was on its way to some level of organization,
our friend the coppiced willow
was once again blocking the sidewalk
and I was glad of a night's sleep
for instead of just plunking it down
to lop into kindling at my leisure
as I assumed I would,
the pile of wands seemed to ask
for a different fate.
and too early for intricate sculpture
the whips were nevertheless
sufficiently flexible, with care,
for four large, leafy hoops--
magic portals to who knows where,
now woven into the gaps
left in the lost lilacs.
It was simple enough to do,
and hunks of ice,
loosened by the slight increase in temperature
are thudding onto the roof of the house--
(some impressive bangs to be sure
as I have a metal roof ).
another load of lilac branches
to the yard waste recycling
after I've sent this to you--
but I think I will give the city a chance
to catch up with the impressive piles
I found there yesterday,
and instead, perhaps, investigate
the branches of Oregon Grape
crushed by falling lilac
and currently waiting for that next load,
the under-bark of which
looks enticing yellow--
as a dye source
by the First Nations People
of the Mid Columbia River region.
How compelling is that?
Perhaps next time
the plants in my life
are hit hard by the vagaries
of the seasons and our
I'll be able to loop light
with strands of golden yellow.
Only time will tell.
for, internet willing,
I hope to spend most of the morning
at Rebecca Mezoff's Book launch
I'm so thrilled about this book--
and not just because I was fortunate enough
to get to write the forward!
It really is a marvel, from cover to cover.
You can learn more about the book itself
in this little trailer,
and also join the enthusiastic throng
at either (or both) of the zoom events--
on November third and seventh
accessible at the link above.
And though Rebecca was not thrilled
that her launch is on election day,
tapestry seems a far better place
to put one's energy
than watching results trickle in.
Indeed, I look forward to celebrating
Rebecca's marvelous ability
to shed light onto
the making of woven tapestry
more than I can say.
Maybe you'll be there too!