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