| edged out volume 8 part 2 - 1984 january-february | work & days: a lifetime journal project |
11 January 1984 "A large animal that stays warm in the sea has to eat." Said in a tone something like petulant, that instantly could be linked to the look he sometimes has, of being experienced in brothels. - Wanting to talk about the massive brows of the sea lions - and I insisting on the beautiful otter. And the interesting way the meeting went. I headed out late, but sure of not being caught by the dark; and then met the tractor on the woodlot road, black and white, not hearing it before I could see its red and the dog came barking. "Oh sorry!" having driven me through the rose whips. "That's all right!" Thinking, I understand his tone, but what was mine. Light-hearted, pleased. Mr Mitchell of Aberdeenshire digging one spit of sand inside chicken wire topped nicely by three strands of microfilament - the evening around us - the plot laid alongside the road - Epp in her yellow raincoat and Stiefel, the van plunges around the corner, the driver peering, Ferron in professional tinted glasses - how's she looking? - smooth. Power: Florence unable to refuse her mother and sister but inventing and administering a hospital - and then easily leaving it - not being willing to politic in committee and then easily accurately doing it - taking herself right into and through physical collapse. I am fed up with not knowing my situation - with Roseanne even, not holding - being 'strong', being not accepting their - and with T this summer the sense of how easily attack is deflected by as-if knowing right. She took power in the strength of social competence easily established - social competence for me I'm suspecting would have to go on from standing up in crippledness - "I see you're wondering about my foot" - would have to find out what actually goes on, what to answer - taking on every new meeting as an arena where that embarrassment is going to be broached - I would like to learn, now. Not wanting to have the massed vigilant administrator's look - liking to look like Titania. Going from that liking to learn - to the hardening of talking to her - dislike - talking about love and having no interest - oh it's gone like that has it - right - a way to show tone. "I see you distrust my beauty." [*sketch of paintings from the Sierra de San Borja in Baja California] - Sound masses, juxtaposed, collide around us ... composed in densities and volumes of sound ... space in which objects slowly revolved in a kind of acoustic geometry. quest for imagery of (re)birth Xenakis - engineering, math, architecture, philosophy The music they're used to, with its emphasis on feelings like joy or melancholy, is based on conventions that have become obsolete. What one must look for today are the dynamic and cosmic forces that surround these emotions Calculus of probability - Bernouilli's law of large numbers - any chance event more likely with each try, to come out as statistically expected - evolution toward stochos - stochastic - stability. This mathematical absolute - the law of great numbers - as philosophy. A confrontation of acoustical continuity and discontinuity (glides and points) - using mathematics of probability. Surfaces and volumes of sound constructed in continuous transformation but taking discontinuity, or granularity, as its beginning - dense clouds of cloud-atoms spread across all registers in all nuances ... giving our formation the appearance of continuous evolution, like spirals of smoke or cloud shifts. [*National Geographic photo of runners and shadows] To define and control these clouds, use of the law of large numbers: the normal curve of Gauss, Maxwell, Poisson, of continuous probabilities with the criteria of Pearson, Fisher, etc. Responsibility beginning now in recognition of plurality of need, ideal, condition, origin ... the tendency to deal with formalities 12 Wanting to imagine - today is first quarter, nearing ovulation, very low tide - mussels eaten and then sitting on the rock seeing the crossing motions of water, the yellow-orange-green-pink-blue intensity - then finding clams. Xenakis - electronic music - whether it can go to color - two things 1. learning to hear 2. working with the ideas I return to 3. daring to see. On the rocks looking at the water quiet in the radiation redirected from water seeing that if I look it is water moving in a certain way with quite a lot of black, but if I see it is an amazing wrinkled surface, blue, like aluminum foil - another way, was the sense of a light light, like snow drifting, blown across both the tidal wavelets perpendicular down-sound, and the circumferal arcs outward from points of rock, the sense of blue, blown, as if gas, was firm, possibly there was wind that way - then it was movements in many directions crossing through each other - I don't understand the blue or its quality of drift, I couldn't see it to know it, looking was a point focus, seeing was wider - I was noticing myself anchoring in the possibility of describing, as if I could really see what I didn't already know. The idea of taking specks of a medium, applying an elementary math to it and then seeing it fork (organize). Seeing the clouds charging over the escarpment edge - evaporate - over Pender, a long turd of cloud, its length, forming at the tail, elaborating further forward. Orion springing, red on starboard; the bright yellow half rocketing northwest. Orion a great broad rising beyond this near sheer all the time bathtub. Parts:
A closed cube of gases electrobiologically played
Position 13 Grievance when chopping wood. "isolation, painful lonely and fearfilled for the loss of boundaries ... more peaceful than I would ever have imagined possible." [a letter from * describing her experience of my show] After sunset (why) the intensity of yellow, rose incandescence, round zone - turning away from it to shore, the arbutus, dead branches and red skin, very bright, green leaves distinct, and the rest, what is it, brown - are the other greens brown - leaving it, the distinctness of the lichens, ultraviolet maybe - "a good lichens" - infrared? - small moss seeming to be seen to grow facing the horizontal light. The light seems an incandescence of substance in that zone of relation to the sun- just there a circular (moreness) of molecules. 14 One mouse open sleigh - there were two, one broke its trace, can one mouse pull it? If two mice pulled more people - but it tips - bracelet and mittens lost - "I saw him wearing them." Spilled soap on the stairs, scrubbing it off, foam, from the top next, in bulk of pale blue petticoats, the dark far below, I see fish now - floating - the soap has killed them - the young man her husband, I have to tell - should we flood it with fresh water - tells me to get it in the c ---, mouse and reins, that is, do I have a dysfunctioning left kidney. "The bull refused to accept confinement" "just like humans." It was she who set him up - "Isn't it early for calves?" the familiar feel of that passing of language between men, above my head - annoyance and resistance - my father and Nick Sieburt snickering - annoyance and resistance, underneath, not willing to show it heard - ie not hearing - what must be generic threat. Stigm mark, pointed end, brand, to prick, stizein.
"Both electromagnetic and mechanical vibration spectra" have identifiers / formants = relative energy in spectral components Consider a complex sound - as a series of pulses of varying width and height Bell - frequency analyzer - filters harrow, tiny lamps, a light sensitive band - 'visible speech' Wavelength varies from 56' at low pitches to less than an inch at high Ray vs wave acoustics What's interesting in this black and white I'm lost in a way, I'm trying to be lost, I'm trying to go into someplace I've never been, to work there - particularly with this, where the energy gets so thick, I get a little uneasy, I get the feeling sometimes there's someone behind me. Tod Dockstader
15 Stinking bleeding - period going on a long time - a sitting still realizing a damage at that time. The child asleep muttering in Arabic - inky pink spider when up the water spout - she says the Arabic word is for spider - he's crying out - disturbed. The explanation is, he is stopped at a (concept), he stays in right brain as defense - she gives him the (concept) he needs, and "the child wings away." How many children every year are killed by 'swinging' - they swing through a door that hasn't been closed, onto nothing, a drop - 'swinging' is what Jam does - there's a voice beginning to explain, that I expect to stop when I attend to it, but it goes through the whole of its quite pompous sentence - "You're my 'in', I go 'out' for the full intensity of my being, coming 'in' crashes against my unconscious truth." There were two ideas, 'swinging' and ----. My sense of it as I was listening was of children in physical motion practicing psychic motion (what else do they like to do), swinging is moving quickly from one mind to another. Respectableness - the economic unconsciousness - the basic of it is not to cost anyone anything. - Begin from, the recurring mutter against 'them' who think me unrespectable, argument, counterposing values - to in fact I am unrespectable as it's understood always by majority - to why not enjoy the position more - which would be - not making inner or outer efforts to be respected though not through the common agreements - then a sense I'd better find out what I think respect is, and whose or which authority underwrites it - and the relation to being able to do neat things with language - J using her group to gauge herself - T her family. The specific haunt here - and last night finding a little white - sleepless, puffed, cold and smoke today, old crooked face - it's high pressure, low tides, near ovulation and full moon - something sore back - pressure to go to town, I'm holding out for some finishing - eyes sting. The mud and small dog's footprints - and why - 'suspicioned' - ie I didn't meet this one well. And then offer of the roof jack - the economics are murky. And I have to say something about the eyes - breaking in. [sketch of the Campbell's boat] -
- Him - size - endocrine - tox - serotonin, catacholamines, thrill-seeking - depressants - career - liking to mislead - the real intent and how he can learn - fright. - The transitions of colors and then to colorlessness Sea-use and English The unconscious as a language - how much of the context of a word is present with it, in use but silent -
Looking to see which word the rest are there for False visual covering true audible Indicating his twisted leg without bitterness, as if it belonged to all of us Incandescent increase of substance in a zone of relation The way the two-year-old is forming inductive rules Sound, you dead woman, I'm sending you to sleep A stricted child "'Mooring anchor' does not mean an old engine block" - To work with the air For most visual involvement many points, randomness and complex structure mass structures - individual particles subordinated to phenomena of many particles moving together and assuming larger shapes within a cloud of events gradual formations in continuous change, like the spiraling of smoke among sound masses, densities and volumes of sound, surfaces and planes, but on the ground of discontinuities, granularity dense clouds of sound atoms spread across all registers in all modalities the arts of vision could likewise formalize themselves anew a prismatic setting-out of tiny pitched notes a child soprano transformed - almost like birdsong - whole choruses - 'crystalline music' bell effects, a maze of shadows electronic sounds placed to left and right of the instruments, also behind them, to give a shadow illusion Xenakis [Jam's handwriting in pencil on a scrap of paper] oh i am so lost in such deep trouble, wher ar u , y don't u phone wer u put off the last time morning. bottomed, & back. i'm not gonna let go yet i'm gonna shake her by the neck until she sees wat she is doing, clare. the way it's going nobody xcept for her is going to end up w wat they want! diana's bewildered, beset and pressured to support a position which wil not favour her work! as for the rest i don't need to burrow into yr armpit today, but when u come home, come home any way it is, noisy, thumping up the stairs, to hell w mudras & coming quietly undisturbing o I love how u'v deposited in me, little teeth, & i love all those other parts u'r keeping w you. please come home soon, make company [clipping from Tim Stevens' column Astral Reflections] The most emotionally nervous sign is Pisces. Many astrologers say these people are masochists. It works like this: it is almost impossible to hid your emotions from a Pisces. If you like them, they know it, if you dislike a Pisces, he or she knows it. In addition, Pisces people are like those machines that measure tremors in the earth, they are very sensitive to, and responsible to, their environment - and that environment is composed, for Pisces, of the hearts, souls, emotions, attitudes, of the people around them. They lead an almost entirely emotional or 'psychological' existence. Therefore a Piscean can get very nervous in your presence, because even though you may be talking about apples and oranges, the Piscean is registering whole 'waves' of emotional stimuli. Often, this stimulus is almost overwhelming, and you'll frequently see a Piscean raise their voice too much, or bump into a door when leaving, or otherwise react with nerves. Do you remember the story of King Lear, who was so overwrought with emotions that he wanted to be out in the storm, the wind and rain and thunder, because these would distract him and soothe him? Well, it is often like this with Pisceans. Sometimes the stimulus becomes too much, and they need a bit of chaos or violence to wipe out all the nervous energy / reaction they are holding inside. Better to shout or hit than tremble forever on the edge of the heart. And so Pisces people often cause storms - lover's spats or other mechanical ways of relieving their energy. Pisceans also, though, have a quickness to feel guilty, because they know, deep down, that it is they who started the fight in order to reach their own catharsis. So, to keep things even, they often let themselves ultimately lose the fight, the spat, the storm. 29
Letters from Ruth Epp, J-V, Joann, Peter T J says the whole of the body may transmit sight, like optic fiber
From what position names are given (Mobility) / returning to abilities attention isn't used to 30
Lying in bed trying to stay awake to feel myself fall asleep - sensations up through the head - startled by a small voice, a woman's, from a distance, but a foot from my left ear - I jump awake, look at that place above the bed clothes. The sensations in that change, of having come somewhere I've been before - rarely - was it when I used to smoke - abstracter, obliquer, drier, authoritative, and some place-time flavour. Staying while going. 'Describing' "You aren't able to read it yet." Everything is actively. We save all beings by including them. That we form a single organism with - Shikantaza [in Zen 'just sit'] One tradition of social responsibility, one of Having to find what (preoccupies) the whole - justification cloud In right mind there is no dying or killing In right mind there is no stealing There's no lying, denying No self-zonking No gossiping, typing No placing self over No keeping good stuff for oneself Giving or holding anger that feeds self esteem It doesn't mean you should strain, just that you shouldn't do anything else. Above the heavens, below the heavens, only I, alone and sacred. - When I began to think I would be a writer I meant that I wanted to move freely, have unusual experience, and grasp my experience more than the people around me seemed able to. I was ten or eleven when I began to write, outside of school. The earliest writing I still have, is a fantasy of myself as a Hallowe'en witch; and then a science fiction of my wedding ceremony as the ruler of Venus. When I was twelve I wrote an analysis of my father's unfairness, that began the journal writing. I wrote letters to a lot of penpals, had begun to write poetry, and at thirteen had organized three other people into a collaborative novel and a handwritten magazine. This was probably also the period when I was telling my sister daily installments of the beginnings - the characters and settings, I wasn't interested in plot - of mystery stories. I was given a five-year diary and wrote in it from 12 to 17. There was an earlier collaborative magazine, 11 and 12? 10 and 11? With my sister, her friend, my friend - it was always two older, two younger - about our loves. Again I was the organizer. We gave ourselves initials and were each in some way dedicated to one of the high school boys. I think I organized the other's loves, it was my own love for Kenneth Driediger that I wanted a court for. The earliest writing, then, was about: sex, friendship, ceremony, place, anger and sadness, to record and expand; and was usually collaborative, or shared. I wanted it to be seen, and it was other girls I gave it to. By fourteen, by grade nine, I had a fine English teacher, a man, who assigned well and liked what I wrote. I delighted in writing assignments through the rest of high school. In grade ten I wrote a short story about my polio leg, for a contest, whose prize was a summer school writing class. I didn't win. During those years I was writing weekly letters to boyfriends in other places. I created my romantic life in writing, successfully: I held a high school boy, and then older men, by my writing. When I was sixteen I researched and wrote an article for the teenage girls' page of the Family Herald. It earned 30 dollars, that I spent on a typewriter, in a community where no one I knew had a typewriter. Other articles, later, gave me my own money, for clothes and presents. I tried writing a children's story but it was refused; I burned the refusal and didn't try again. By grade 11 and 12 I had better books. The most important were probably 1984 and Brave New World. I was being promoted as a writer, by my teachers. I had by this time found the connection between writing and coffee - the possibility of writing through the night, and looking up seeing it's dawn. I always outlined: worked from notes, and then wrote out first and final draft in deadline pressure, delighting in the synthesis that always took me secure on the platform of outline logic and other people's formulations, beyond what I or they had done before, "a successfully ambitious style" on my first college English paper - gratified - yes I knew it was that. I wrote continuously, letters home, long novelistic descriptions, and my journal for what couldn't be told in general. The most important reading in that year was probably Yeats and Synge. In 4th year a philosophy teacher, his wife a poet, giving me a lift home after class: saying my writing on Hegel was partly nowhere and partly better than anything he'd read. I say yes I like to write but I don't at all know what I could write. In the next ten years I wrote constantly, writing was my friend, but it was journal writing, not publishable. I went into a long loneliness with writing. I was having to find a life in what was for my writing a wilderness - the life was abundant - I loved fought traveled lived in the great city of English, but there was no longer anyone promoting me, anywhere. My thesis got a first, but no one spoke to me about it. I got people to read my journal, who had nothing very much to say - who didn't praise. David Cooper only when I asked said "You can write but I don't know what." Rosalynde de Lanerolle said "What you need to write about is liberation." Roy read it for information. I felt there was something wrong with it - I knew what I wanted to write was not fiction: or even stories - I wanted to write what I did write, and had always written: personal record. But what was wrong in the journal was the life: I had to change the life, and that necessity took me into women's politics, pottery, film-making, being a single and then a part-time and then an absent parent, a Sufi group - and then, in another country, to lesbian lovers and community, LSD, Jewish intellectual persecution, what may have been a kind of break-down, and slow reconstruction, my first unconditional passion; and always, from the beginning, reading and study. When I found Dorothy Richardson I had found my antecedence. But I hadn't found my companions. When I did find them A seven year project on my home country, which took me to physical change, the calculation of life before birth. In this time, parallel, among my lovers my heroes and my own time, I came to another way of writing, which is not yet readable to most. My next life will come when I find those who can read it. - Oversailing stones What conscience says. Don't join that lineage, don't use the cult language. What defiance says. Go on reading / eating. - He arrived looking old. He was at the end of his first life. But after a few days, he had become a baby. There was enough food to support some who were not food-producing. Building large structures - 'the monument' - bones - cairns - carns - cist - grave goods To drive the ghost from the former home How long it took them to live past 30.
Keltoi - warrior aristocracy - fighting - blond manes - big women -
[sketch of twig runic letters] Vowel sounds 19, consonant 24. OE and ON secret conversation. "Wrote Greek alphabet." Druids, Brahmins and Assyrians. Math pre-Celtic from North Africa using a base of 19 (18 1/2) years metonic cycle. Pythagoreans studied Druids. Birth is also a matter of awe, for this summoning of the black sheep to join the white will demand its requital. The point to which all signs ultimately point - at the 7 stars, the great bear.
Altaic protoshamans, Buryat Aniet tonight, today anniet anéit Ane Bonefoot Kellt ashe artemesia, mountain ash
Fosterage till puberty - 17 for boys, 14 for girls Loose nature of sexual ties Crom dubh black claw Bull, boar, stag, reindeer, bear, salmon, eagle, horse, hawk, raven interlocking of the living and the dead through the power latent in the natural environment In trance enter the land of spirits - fasting and meditation - lays himself open to the forces immanent - they will be her informants - animal and bird life, cloud and climate, stars and their motions, herbs and their properties Aelfreda OE The birch / the swan She signifies that attraction to the sensitive life Families of values, a code When seeming to be speaking to one, venting of another. Death, woman, primitive, sleep, nature Reason and energy Dipolar equivalences I used extreme close-up photography together with a geologist's field microscope - ultraviolet and infrared photography Totems - animals from which descended Just outside the cave, the author found growing plants identical to those depicted inside the cave. Huge irregular winding chambers have been carved inside the hill by ancient underground rivers Suddenly one comes upon a flat, dry wall There is a huge red fish in the body of one horse Red dots - handprints - meander finger lines - ocher is iron oxide - manganese oxide for black - red yellow brown violet A form of notation, likely by women Observing self-consciousness - must be accurate, careful in observation The interpreting subconsciousness "has no power of inductive reasoning but it is practically perfect at deduction." "the ever-departing spiritual substance" "the confidence of the virgin" "the benefits of Union while retaining a location for the virtues of independence" "drawing from the same system of structural opposition" "that the issue should have been between native simplicity and imported sophistication" "in constant intoxication with a trustful belief in and surrender to objects and persons" 31
1st February Beginning The school. What changed. Standing on the pasture slope looking at the copse - in a south-facing recess of the douglas fir deciduous trees standing in color - it's their bloom-time, pink, orange, a dust hanging in the branches - that stand crossed - white - the trees and shrubs dark at the base lightening to milk-blue at the tips - these trees with their weave - straight whips - the scatter of color with concentrations - I begin to see - and more of the color - a yellow lower - feel myself thinking of writing it - ah, is it fear - does seeing frighten. The man kneeling to make fire over a root, new jeans with a red tool-strap. The horses standing among the great bare fir pillars. "They all have halters on." His long patient replies. Marveling at his obedience. Following him into the house. He fetches the lamb from behind the stove. It's so lean and thin, even the lambskin is thin, long legs wide and black at the hooves - narrow light thing coming to us to smell. Going through the gates to the lambing house - pens under the big firs, clean dirt, ewes with triplets in a smaller one, a lamb basking between roots - two curled on a board - cats or rabbits - the ewes that haven't lambed with their human vulvas, brown-purple, presenting - lambs in them one each side like saddlebags - the greenyellow thick milk in a bottle - he kneels on the straw explaining - "Do you know seconds pudding?" - "albumen." He goes through gates, I step through, he closes them - his hands shake, his breathlessness - the dog killing a fir branch - praised - we walk on firm mud tracks, in the even heat. "We have a lot of lambs," "four this morning." A ewe with bloody cord hanging. "I was three quarters of an hour delivering this one, this morning." "Our old ponies." The old ewe. "She." What I wanted to note about the water - on the wharf looking - how hard it is to see - something that looks like a combing of shadows running back from the advance of this riplet, after peering, begins to seem a turned flank of a contour - but is it. The surface of the water like a metal skin - plated one molecule thick - patina - supple over the water's beast. The motions of water crossing - I thought three axes - two at ninety degrees and one at 45 to the main - that was my fancy - like a plaid - thinking of the Scots at sea. Can I see fear. Afraid in 'writing.' You have no idea of the anguish of making, of abandoning, something of oneself to be judged and to be incapable of judging oneself, incapable of knowing what one is. For one more or less free bar, there are twenty which suffocate under the weight of a tradition whose hypocritical and base influence, in spite of my efforts, I keep encountering. Wrote Debussey in 1911. "24th of March, sweet freezias in an aluminum coffee pot, here is another real room, where I close my covers up to my chest and feel, I'm happy in this room, that binds me back to other happy rooms." She is thirty one, she is waking alone in a hotel, she's without her child for another week, she is in the state she loves, of being fresh in a place, seeing it, suspended and excited. The rest of her circumstance is complicated to explain: the Avalon Hotel on Pender Street is a type of old loggers' hotel, woodframe, a very cheap hotel, old drinkers, men and women, in rooms with stove and refrigerator. The night I came in, late, from California, Fred said sure he had a room. Upstairs in an end of hallway, windows on the alley, it has an iron frame bed, a dresser against the window, a fridge, a table with an oilcloth. It stinks. In the morning I wash the walls and windows. Under the hotel, one long room, that was a garment factory, we have rented for the Women's Interart Co-op. My furniture and things are there. When my child comes back we'll find a house. With my welfare money I buy: "beautiful things, the Chinese umbrella with green ribs and brown paper webs and a rough wood-handle, that's for real rain I hear pouring onto the alley floor like a waterfall. A stainless steel steamer, the weeping fig, the freezias, a Chinese bowl, tomorrow a green-glazed ginger-jar!" Silver, white, green, the plant's pointed leaves, the freezias, the aluminum pot found, maybe in the basement, two porcelain wine-cups, white, the blue-green ginger-jar, I set on the windowsill, in the silver light from the alley: the narrow alley, concreted, warehouse, fire escape, windows, and pigeons: the days and nights of heavy rain, its continuous shattering below the window. The huge creosoted wiring timbers, the old town. In the dark, feet and arms hunting the outhouse, what is that fear, I hear something stir maybe in the arbutus, that way. Uncertain where the ground falls away, into the water. Is there something I don't know - It could change suddenly - what I know could be gone - there could be something I don't know, come out of somewhere - those I trust could be waiting to harm me, I may believe wrongly, there may be beings I don't know about, who can interfere with me, there may be meanings I live, everything I register may be an outcome of acts and intentions I don't suspect. That I am attacked, and attack. That I desire anyone. Signs of fear - getting something to put in mouth - grey radio - ducking - those mistakes? Standing beside the cabin - if I see it (people shy in life) it will be an interruption - her continuity will be gone. "That builds me back." I'm afraid of dying any minute. That I'm afraid of abandoning myself. The sweet safeness of telling the day past. I went in the afternoon, to work on the bathhut, coming past the dock seeing the boat gone. It's warm but not bright. Flotsam, unusual, is it a high tide setting it loose, sometime during the early hours. Sawing near the ground, with the wood held over the edge of a plum box, flabby saw, handle wrapped with string. Picking nails out of the rusted scatter on a plank. I trip on a root. The saw slips against my index finger, I suck it to clean out the tetanus. "Scrounge carpentry is what I'm used to" (I tell him). Replaced slats different greys, browns, the thing is neat, grey old lichened boards underneath, a silver glow as it's getting dark - I see it again, when I bring the cedar for the door slab. - Foundation
No one is sexually abandonable or buyable 3 The raven yelling PILOT! PILOT! PILOTPILOTPILOT. A garden room, small cedar-colored, shaggy, arbutus leaf wheel from a twig I set in the earth shelf. Waves slapping up onto the sand on the other side of the sandbar. I am deaf and blind crouched digging in the grit, with the wood spoon, in the small light of the Canada bug (I made from the upper half of a coffee pot), can the sea come suddenly. When I was on the end of the point far beyond the red light, pouring the dim candle into space that doesn't take it, the size of the sudden splash.
all the parts of a presentness interrelated the self is shown to be open, a nonself feeding what time gives back into time, stimulating it, accelerating it Any point can be reached and interacted with.
4
Learned to warm foot. The bright mist running by the red flowering tips of the alders on the other side of the lake.
This aft going over the mountain - the sky's Mediterranean - in the gap a standing tongue of cloud - it's hot on the trail - just beyond the rim I put on my hat, the chill attacks the middle ears - down the road to the shore it's a different day - the cut full of wet slash, a long fall to the stream, I don't like that passage, it's next to a bad accident or a body disposed - the air's raw and grey - they say, when they come into the store, It's cold today. Going home, climbing between the mud ruts, watching for how the boundary will show - it's at the reservoir - where the road comes next to the water, opposite, across the lake, the sight of the alders bright and the dark air evaporated to that thin brightness flowing past them - and then the southern day - the hot trail - watery pasture - then cold among the trees - the sea slate grey and choppy under fog running low through the sound - as I inspect the shore for roofing boards - beautiful cleanness of wood washed up. I can hear whales. It's dark, windy, in commotion. I know they're there, something,
How she is here: writing. Her metal head says pressure.
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