21 - The House Stack

A movement reboot
30 minutes at a time
feeling strong again

Walking with the sage witch to the limits of perception. Roiling over the edge and perpetrating doom with a side of mandatory cuddling. Cold winds are a-blowing and the edges have become foggy. The dozer goes back and forth, beating a metronome of dust. The solvent takes a bite out of a thinly spread existence that is impatient, exhausted, and worried about the future. What I know is that we cannot do it by ourselves. The limits of an unsharpened knife are clear. The bounds of matter are narrowed as black clouds lurk on the horizon.

22 - Tee-Totaling Mission of Stomping

Shading the green house
next steps in growing own food
one step at a time

The newness entering the world ushers in lightness from the darkness. The masks come off hesitantly for some, enthusiastically for others. There is a lot of catching up to do - impatiently casting away the impatient times. Only now we are met with war and grief, and another kind of impending doom. Our scrolling continues apace. There's a certain euphoria every time another country raises a middle finger to the narcissists of the world. Even then, hopelessness reigns. There is always a teeter-todder of emotion, the feelings of helplessness range equally with the feelings of helpfulness. Back and forth the balance shifts, and in the end history is repeated. Again. And again. We can ask if this will become a turning point. We can ask will this be an/the end.

23 - Green Chile Express

Planning adventures
to parts unique and unknown
desert cheeseburgers

Frozen fingers from the endless snowball throws to the dog. It is pure unadulterated joy. Each snowball is a moment of happiness bursting forth in physical energy. It is the invisible visible. You see it in trembling toes, brightened eyes, and quivering coat. One of the many everyday magics that we deny or have become oblivious to. I see it in a thousand photos of people in the midst of tragedy staring numbly at their phones. They are bowed to a glimmer of another state of being within a mush of simmering electrons.

24 - The Fiction of Normal

Shovel show inside
the greenhouse. humidity
causes lens to fog

Ten days behind at this point and every night annoying dreams or straight up nightmares. The conflicts abroad are conflating in my brain-sac into a miasma of 'there's nothing I can do about it.' Do we even know truth any more - even our own thoughts betray us... sometimes. The past two years have been a slow slog of just keep moving forward some how, some way, some day things may get better. This is our reality - maybe not your reality. Some nights I feel like I'm cooking with anxiety, others are steeped in gentle relaxing vibes. The jackhammering and endless barking are no longer an existential threat. Spring is around the corner, the clouds are rolling in, and our snowpack is still only 30-40% of normal. What is normal? Some argue we are well past the point of no return. I refuse to believe it, even though I'm positive that technology alone is not going to save us. Where is our will?

25 - Androids Dream of Analog Sleep

move frozen horse trough
chipping ice with rock hammer
finally released

A brain filled with dystopian visions watching another blizzard fling snow aggressively. The brain is elsewhere and present. A roiling mass of scarcity vs. abundance vs. reality. The images all blur into one unintelligible morass. The 4:11 wakeup dream keeps knocking with the winds from the North. The end-game is unfathomable. Will civilization survive until June? Until next week?

26 - The Dumpling Hustle

Pandemic meltdown
raging against all this shit
cannoli blankie

Startled by chirps in the night. Nothing compared to bombs raining down wanton destruction. Their motivations are relentlessly analyzed, their reports are murky. Alive without an age in the springing forth of unsettled. We are hiding away from the blustery north winds trying to catch up on all the tasks swept aside by more pressing. A sense of normalcy has returned for a visit, maybe short, maybe long. Maybe one-way masked. Maybe not. I deeply inhaled the scent of books at the bookstore perusing slowly and reverently.

27 - Moon Over Miasma

Mystery no more
distinctive intestine mold
wombats cubic poop

The wind whips the clouds away wispy and unbidden. Critters keep coming into focus, stirring from the depths or flying in on a dream. Watching the rafter nests to see if they have been reoccupied. The mullein stalks sway lazily waiting to host their next adventurer. Time slipping away just as lazily. Masking making towards an impossible tomorrow, hot or cold or somewhere in between. Life doing the limbo and falling flat on its back. Solving the solution in solution with a mystery.

Of Wonder and Wander

Week 8 - 2022