Mechanical Unicorn

I think the internet is like a mechanical unicorn that you can ride to faraway places. Mechanical. Gears and levers and wires. Unicorn. Imbued with magical essence that virtually escapes description. It is it's own reality. But, man made. Yes, what an inspired creation. Can be very troublesome at times.

Run

Valentine Menu



cherry

ginger

thyme

Like A Child

LIKE A CHILD

Like a child I just sat in the sunlight

and played with the minutes as they went running by.

Like a child who had never known sorrow

I didn't hurry I just looked at the sky.

While the clouds went on endlessly passing.

All the clouds on their long voyage home

seemed to say that youth is everlasting

but a rose cannot grow alone.

Like a child I would listen in silence

to the soft sound of evening as it caught up the day,

till you were there in the gathering darkness

and we found that our green years had all gone away.

Now the clouds are going forever

here awhile then gone evermore

and a child on the far side of never

has to run when time closes the door.

Then take my hand and as children we'll go now

all alone through the thundering crowds.

Take my hand and together we'll look now

like a child for the little lost clouds.

ROD McKUEN

from "Listen to the Warm" ©1967

Hold Out For the Real Thing



the girl who knew better

 "always I will dance for you in the circle of my heart" Cerridwen Fallingstar 



Peace

♦ hedgerow arts wishes you all a happy new year ♦

White Horses

Count the white horses you meet on the way,
Count the white horses child, day after day,
Keep a wish ready for wishing - if you
Wish on the ninth horses, your wish will come true.

I saw a white horse at the end of the lane,
I saw a white horse canter down by the shore,
I saw a white horse that was drawing a wain,
And one drinking out of a trough: that made four.

I saw a white horse gallop over the down,
I saw a white horse looking over a gate,
I saw a white horse on the way into town,
And one on the way coming back: that made eight

But oh for the ninth one: where he tossed his mane,
And cantered and galloped and whinied and swished
His silky tail, I went looking in vain,
And the wish I had ready could never be wished.

Count the white horses you meet on the way,
Count the white horses child, day after day.
Keep a wish ready for wishing - if you
Wish on the ninth horse, your wish will come true.
                                                                            Eleanor Farjeon

Traveling into the Future

"In order to be utterly happy the only thing necessary is to refrain from comparing this moment with other moments in the past, which I often did not fully enjoy because I was comparing them with other moments in the future."
André Gide

Skating Away on the Thin Ice of a New Day

Vanestov

  

And I have felt...a sense sublime

Of something far more deeply interfused, 

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 

And the round ocean and the living air,

And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;

A motion and a spirit, that impels

All thinking things, all objects of all thought,

And rolls through all things.

 WORDSWORTH

Ivan Kramskoi

 flowers for me today!

Foreshadowing

Paolo Roversi photo of Tasha Tilberg

by David Wagoner

The ledge of light, flat over the pier, Tilts into darkness as the sun fails; And all those glinting shreds on the water pour Downward under waves gone slack like sails.
Now, in the shade, swells trundle the flotsam in And strand it, hulking, where the stones waver Like mice in the grey shallows.
What greens remain Are deeper than olive-kelp.
All fish roll over.
O the rain comes slowly from its anchorage Near the furthest spars, and, falling aslant, Nudges the air inward like a wedge To the cove's rim, drenches it dead and faint, And grounds it with the flotsam, lolling there More like uprooted sea wrack than air. 
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(again - a poem from Dry Sun, Dry Wind and again I messed with his poem by putting the sentences together instead of the spacing of the original in the book...I don't usually do this to poems but I found the imagery so beautiful and compelling, so non-fictional and Pacific Northwest-ish that it just reads that way to me. Apologies to Mr. Wagoner.)

Late October

junior witches gather in the streets
last year's pumpkinhead says hello as he passes by with a mouth full of sweets
children have swarmed all the gates and ring doorbells and knock on wood
tonight is dark and full of shining smiles and secrets

(this post is partially  paraphrased/white stolen (like a white lie/white magic?) and idea-ed/inspired from David Wagoner's poem Late October from his 1953 book Dry Sun, Dry Wind)

Can You See the Earth Turn?

I really like warm sunny days in October. They are bittersweet, but mostly sweet. The moon is always tangled up with wildly textured clouds in the October night sky and the sunsets have begun to have a certain lingering tension, a hold-on-tight-I'm gonna make-this-one-count exuberance. I know the wind will pick up with a chill and blow away the fuchsia tatters of puff in the evening sky, but I am going to relish every minute of it. The folks around here have been told it will be a wet winter (no kidding...?...we are on the Oregon Coast for heaven's sake..) and I for one would like to give thanks for the beautiful warm dry summer we have had. It was one of the loveliest in awhile. So very lovely. I am smiling. Wildly.

Eastman Johnson

Hedgerow Arts is 3

Woaza, I almost forgot to wish myself Happy 3rd Blog Birthday on October 3rd. It was in 2009 I started the blog and now I would like to send vanilla cupcakes and sparkling cider and buttermilk crullers and Starbucks hot chocolate ice cream and raspberries and chocolate-covered cherries to Hedgerow Arts. My ace in-the-hole, my shiny friend always, my amanuensis of random ramblings, my verbal sparing partner dueling ever so gallantly, my patient and oft' neglected left field - thank you ever so much for being so much more than I had hoped. I love you little blog-a-ling : )
Hope to get a place in a few weeks. Waiting for someone to move out then will be able to get into this fairly nice little place. Least that is the plan. I am in tatters. Like an antique raveled latch-hook rug, with tasseled edges shredding into fray - soft, worn.  I am the backseat of a car, the distant hoot of the train whistle in the night, the shadow slipping by in the early morning mist. I am the one unseen in a crowd, the one people aren't sure if it is safe to look at. I am pacing the confines of a wide open space with no walls or doors or windows. I am the girl pining for a table to sit at, a bed to lay in and a bathroom to steam up with hot showers. I am the mother with no nest no rest no downy comfort for her children. I will be the one you see in the rear-view mirror, the one you see in the corner of your vision, the one you see if you open your eyes. I am a face of the home-less/non-homed/un-sheltered. But not forever. I am. For ever.

Stepping Out

my childhood hood

later childhood flavorings

 Some historical notes about my life; my Father was in the Army and we lived in many interesting places because of this. Three years in France and three years in Japan flavored my world permanently and infused their color and seasonings into my soul. Stateside also lent many colorful contributions to my world. Colorado, Arizona, Texas, Montana, Missouri, and my beloved Oregon all have heartstrings for me. I claim Colorado as hometown state since that is the family stomping grounds so to speak; my Mother is there and I graduated from school there. I moved to Oregon in 1976, life never to be the same. Enter the nature's child living on the land tents homebirths (all four kids) teepees yurt electricless decades. I learned many skills that most will never have. I say "a teepee girl can survive" because after living this way you gain the skills necessary to really function and thrive at any level of civilizations offerings. I basically was on a long camping trip, hearth and home wise.

We lived communally, swam naked, raised food and children, traveled to festivals, ate clean foods - mostly vegetarian, and many other lovely things. Also we lived well below any sort of financial level considered to be minimum by any standards. Slowly I matriculated back into a semi-traditional lifestyle complete with running water, steady income and town life. Albeit the towns were very fringe-freindly and composed of cultural openness. I did have some re-entry learning curves; it took months to adapt back into electricity tolerance because I had been away from the constant buzzing of the lines that infiltrate our homes. People don't realize the vibe being surrounded by electricity creates in our bodies as opposed to not being near it.

me and Willow, Takilma 1978

Well, my point I guess is that  now not having an address is not really new to me. But the situation is different these days and these surroundings. I also am not as young as I was then and I have learned to love the security (false, evidently..) of having a proper home. If life as we know it is heading for 2012isms etc., I hope to enjoy amenities and comfort for awhile longer if I can! Really though, I usually had a bigger range of options in the old days. Now I am plugged into a different paradigm, or maybe it is the same... Maybe I am ahead of the curve in life experience and skills. Maybe the return to my gypsy princess roots has been to open my eyes and look to new ways to help my community.
But I want to have a home so I rest and can do my art and study and have a sanctuary for my children. I want to plant a garden that I will actually be around to harvest. I need some roots. (Earth girl, looking at the stars.) Maybe if I were a plant I'd be a biennial,  yikes if really I am a perennial, only to blossom for the one season then die off (not literally of course). But seeds I do scatter to the winds, to send my hard won wisdom and yearnings to hopefully find fertile soil. I will do all the work needed to accomplish this, yes. My heart is happy by choice no matter what; even the twinges of pain add to that ultimately.

Looking Both Ways on the Road of Life

I am still here folks. Still a gypsy princess -with some progress, and some not so much progress. Meaning I still do not have a "proper" home yet. I have been able to use a tiny travel trailer to sleep in for a few weeks, but that very  abruptly has come to an end so it is back to my little car. It has been nice to have a small bed and somewhere to plug in a little hotplate to heat water on. I have become a master of instant just-add-water food like cup-o-noodles and instant coffee and tea bags. My favorite menus have been simple fare like seed bread, local cheese, fruit and an occasional  inexpensive cabernet sauvignon or zin. Life doesn't have to suck my friends. It doesn't cost much more really and makes me feel a bit like I'm on a picnic.
There was no bathroom (or water) in the trailer but I had some access to one (with no shower) which now will seem like an incredible luxury. I take showers at the local swimming pool community center for $2.00 each. A hot shower is REALLY one of life's pleasures. Access to a bathroom at any hour of day is the challenge. Wake up early and drive to McDonald's and use theirs... These are the daily challenges that really separate my day from the "norm". These are the things that make me feel the pinch of not-home living. Like traveling, but, really - not. Hurts the heart something fierce sometimes.......
Let me tell you there are more people living in this situation than you realize. Until you've walked this road for whatever reason, you never see it so clearly. It isn't easy. The line is very thin between these worlds, the homed and the homeless, but separate they are.

 I have been able to spend lots of quality time with my love and muse, The Beach. It has been so comforting and inspiring and exciting. I walk for miles, dream, sit and look and beachcomb. Usually I spend many hours a day there - it is free, it changes every day, and has plenty of room to roam and stretch one's eyes to the far horizon. You can even nap. It makes me happy to be on the beach plus Neptune tosses little treasures upon the shore every day, every minute sometimes. I have so many agates and shells and sea glass piled up on my dashboard, decorating my little automotive pony with the booty of a beachy girl. But also it just plain gives me a place to be, to hang out. There are many hours a day and you have to be somewhere. I rarely see anyone I know so it is a strangely anonymous place in a small town. Of course, the beach has been full of tourists, visitors, whatever term you prefer. Also there are miles of beach with many different access points.

If I was to wish for merfolkish dreadlocks, this would of been the summer to do it. The sometime strong winds and the mist of ocean do interesting things to hair. I usually have to spend quite a few minutes detangling before I can go places after the beach. My hair will be ready for some deep conditioning soon but I love the sunstreaks and waves and tendrils in my blonder-than-before hair. I have always preferred a semi-wild, untamed look as opposed to über grooming. Yep, that's me, feral girl.
I have enrolled in online higher education at a large community college which has me very excited. I can use the WiFi at the library with the lovely laptop a friend is letting me use till I can get my PC up in a homespace. Soon I pray, please please. I should have some better prospects at the end of October, just in time for the real turn towards rain rain rain and cold here on the lovely loved loving Oregon Coast. I am amazed at life every day and have so many blessings; those I count and appreciate ALWAYS! I am fine. Just look how pretty it is here. Home.

my town

Adrienne Says It Well

Then Or Now
Is it necessary for me to write obliquely
about the situation? Is that what
you would have me do?
by Adrienne Rich
fom "Dark Fields of the Republic"