on heron time
Hi Friends,
I am writing and crafting a puppet show for the Water Festival. Our Arts Council gave me a grant, which makes it especially sweet.
Also, I am landing home after a week in the city. The quiet and the earth and the smallness feel so, so right. Hard to believe I spent 18 years in all that concrete. Grateful, enormously grateful to live in "the real world." I know those fences are of our own making (samwell), and it is so precious, healthy for me to wake into life infinitely larger than the human drama.
This week, living into the question, When do I feel connected to vitality? That's the core of the course in Enki Education that I started last night. Our first homework assignment. Sometimes, I love being an adult. Feels like I say yes to my life and to learning in a way that I never could as a child.
When do I feel connected to vitality? Writing. Walking. Taking care of my body, really taking care of it, listening. Felting a puppet. Gathering wild ginger root. Visiting Lucy. Feeling excited for Samwell to come home from his city adventure, tonight. Recognizing that I have hardened towards someone in my life, and approaching that wall.
Massaging a poem: For the puppet show, heron takes the stage. Old friend. Longtime teacher. The feathers she let me bring home hang above my writing space. To write for the children, seems I often have to write for the older ones, too.
This one for heron rose last night...
Patient, still as silence,
waiting, watching.
Startled by the human presence,
hungry for the flashing fish.
Long-limbed, storm-winged,
heron rise.
Arrow beak and subtle knife
pinons glide.
Talons dangle, loose and leather
claws beneath the
thick heft of grey
silk and straw.
Onto your hiding places,
your private feast.
Onto your solititude
and unseen peace.
I am writing and crafting a puppet show for the Water Festival. Our Arts Council gave me a grant, which makes it especially sweet.
Also, I am landing home after a week in the city. The quiet and the earth and the smallness feel so, so right. Hard to believe I spent 18 years in all that concrete. Grateful, enormously grateful to live in "the real world." I know those fences are of our own making (samwell), and it is so precious, healthy for me to wake into life infinitely larger than the human drama.
This week, living into the question, When do I feel connected to vitality? That's the core of the course in Enki Education that I started last night. Our first homework assignment. Sometimes, I love being an adult. Feels like I say yes to my life and to learning in a way that I never could as a child.
When do I feel connected to vitality? Writing. Walking. Taking care of my body, really taking care of it, listening. Felting a puppet. Gathering wild ginger root. Visiting Lucy. Feeling excited for Samwell to come home from his city adventure, tonight. Recognizing that I have hardened towards someone in my life, and approaching that wall.
Massaging a poem: For the puppet show, heron takes the stage. Old friend. Longtime teacher. The feathers she let me bring home hang above my writing space. To write for the children, seems I often have to write for the older ones, too.
This one for heron rose last night...
Patient, still as silence,
waiting, watching.
Startled by the human presence,
hungry for the flashing fish.
Long-limbed, storm-winged,
heron rise.
Arrow beak and subtle knife
pinons glide.
Talons dangle, loose and leather
claws beneath the
thick heft of grey
silk and straw.
Onto your hiding places,
your private feast.
Onto your solititude
and unseen peace.
Lots of love, K.
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