illuminating

speak in the language of darkness.

hands and fingers, know them and each other.

By the night ways, mouths and tongues, discover the grain and strength.

By heart, what to clutch for comfort and who to cling to in certainty.

Beltane fruits

I'd forgotten how the strong serendipity factor in my technique pays off in miracles.

To be sure, there's plenty of mud, but even now they are undergoing further treatment, some ghosting.

I'm setting aside a few pieces, but a lot of this is headed for the scrap hamper. You'll see bits and pieces here.

Beltane ripened

The veil is thin.

At the post office, there was a dish of candy out on the counter. Shocking in that this post office rarely even has functioning air conditioning. There were two pieces of my mother's favorite candies. I took them both.
                         
 When I got home, the first of the peonies were blooming. The ones I brought from New York some thirty years ago.


And these were rioting out on the work table.

I'm supposed to be working on dialogue for the living, but the ghosts are having their say, so I'll be still and listen a while.

some cloth

It's hot and muggy here. I rounded up an armload of lackluster cloth and marched them down to the dye deck.

A half-dozen technicolor lumps are basking in the sun, soaking up the color with the heat. I wish it would rain so I could leave them to their own devices, but I'll be doing the wash-out tonight. Then we'll see if there was any kick left in those dyes.

Conversations

It's what happens between thread, the needle, and the cloth.

Somehow, I'm not a part of this conversation. It seems to happen while I'm not paying attention. My mind is elsewhere, on other conversations.