ripples
the felted fish enters
Groom Lake

ripples
the felted fish enters
Groom Lake

history maps
the shape and depth
of face lines

harvest moon—
on the windowsill a bowl
catching the light

ancient monument
so many tourists taking
selfies

slate-coloured dawn
the frolics of freshly shorn
sheep

thermal current
a stork glides over
the meadow

94/100
how many heart beats
in a lifetime

who is to say
this flower is not it …
failed star

chaos and order …
the butterfly flaps
its wings

early dark
this need to explain
the meaning of life

distant train …
as if I had
the answer

felting class
we stop to smell
the roses
.
I made the purple and white flowers during a felting class by Beate Maxzin of Wolllust, “atelier fuer filzbegeisterte,” Augsburg. I am very pleased with the purple flower in particular! Wunderbar!

noon heat ...
seeing what
isn’t there

chiaroscuro …
breathing through
the holes


worn smooth
by the sea
my sharp edges
falling petals—
she gently combs
her hair

aging carousel
the restorer picks up
her brush

the unforgivable otherness of flowers . .
.
(my first attempt at a wet-felted flower didn’t turn out very well: unforgivable!)

not quite
female …
doll

worlds within worlds . . .
rockpools holding
the restless sea

clock repairs
the watchmaker slows down
the minute hand

quiet hour lighting the unknown

candied fruit . . . preserving my sanity

air-dried olives—
her advice to avoid
the sun
(this is the wet-felted bowl drying. It ended up with more wrinkles than I wanted for it, so I may needle felt it tomorrow)

the smell
of golden wheat fields . . .
millstone

Photo of the first stage of wet-felting a bowl!
chains or wilderness . . .
life choices of the unfinished
bear
.

from my window
the path to
the woods

dawn …
what is life
but light

brass pedestal
the ceiling fan’s
hum

sugar wool—
in the long queue
short tempers
