I picked this agate up. See how it looks like a Gummi Bear, a different texture than the other rocks? The clear ones light up when the sun is polarized. It is harder to find them when it is not sunny.
This is not an agate, but some agates are this color. I try not to bring occupied houses home.
This is an agate too, not clear, but lovely color and striping.
Here is another clear one:
I am not the only creature searching the beach.
These were taken on Marrowstone Island and on the beach below Chetzemoka Park in Port Townsend.
What bucket can catch this light and color? None, I think, and then I think I am wrong. A bucket lowered and set in the water, Turquoise and blue and black, a song. Lift the bucket and the turquoise is gone. Reflected light, a dance on on the riffles. It’s like the happiness for which we long. Caught for a moment, containment stifles the reflection of joy in our face and hearts. The face that lights from music or dance or a moment touched by another’s art. Let joy come and go, take the chance. The light on the water will be gone at night. Joy wants to be free and not held too tight.
I heard the band The Winetree last September in Ohio.
Signed, sealed, delivered but not aligned we arrange ourselves with hands like fins we arrange ourselves according to time the island shrinks as the tide rolls in the island hides in the moon pulled sea our fur warmed in the sun’s brief kiss we roll in the waves and dive so deep we roll into the water to play and fish the fish flock to school to avoid our teeth we chase and catch and eat our fill now the island is a shallow rock reef the flash of the fish as they come to grief the tide rolls in, the tide rolls out we climb back on our island as it climbs out
__________________
I walked south on Marrowstone Island two days ago. The tide was starting to come in. The little island is covered when the tide is high and everyone has to go swim. I think they were enjoying the sun as much as I was.
A relatively young man comes to see me.
Problems, a bit intricate, I type a thorough
history as we talk. I make suggestions
and he is to return in a few weeks.
He receives a copy of the note and plan
spit out by the printer.
He returns. There is a pain component.
He does not bring the journal I suggested.
He seems no better. I add a little to the plan
and suggest that he return again.
And again and again. Fourth visit. No journal.
“What have you tried that I have suggested?”
He replies, “I haven’t read your notes yet.”
“You haven’t read my notes yet? In three months?
I’ll tell you what: how about you return after
you read my notes and try some
of my suggestions. Why come in if you aren’t interested
in trying anything?” I do not go to rage.
It is not my problem. It is his problem.
If he doesn’t like the plan or doesn’t want to read
(yes he can read) or doesn’t want change,
that is his choice. Don’t waste my time.
He does not return.
It is a mystery. What did he want?
Why didn’t he tell me if he wanted something else?
If it was opiates perhaps he asked around
and decided I am the wrong “provider”
since I am very careful about those provisions.
A mystery. I wonder if it could have played out differently. Then I let it go and move on.
Sometimes water looks light and flighty in photographs, but here is Crocker Lake, with the water looking thick and deep. A mirror, inviolate. A surface that we can almost believe we can step on. Water IS heavy.
_________________________
The weight of water
You don’t realize the weight of water
I say I am a sea, deep, the emotions on the surface only you dismiss me, female, lesser, emotional, unimportant except for your uses. I should be receptive, listen, not speak. You have no interest in my life, except when you want my services.
You don’t believe me until the day you look down and fall. The waters close over your head. The weights you’ve tied around your ankles carry you down down. Welcome to the depths.
I never thought I would be famous. I never thought I’d be a zombie either, but a famous zombie? In demand for murals?
When the zombie illness first hit, hundreds of years ago, we were hunted nearly to extinction. The discrimination was terrible and we were killed in heartless horrific ways. We hid and never ever spoke to humans. We often starved. And the movies that depicted us! We were never saying “Brains!” We were saying “Pains!” And get over the idea that we want to bite you! We don’t. It just hurts so much when we are hidden in the deserts and can’t get food, that we bite in despair. After all, our neurological fine motor skills only work when we are fed. Not with brains but with color! Color, crayons, paints, pencils, glorious and exquisite color.
Doesn’t this pain you too?
Browns and greys and tans and muds. The blue sky helps a little and the yellow of the sign, but any zombie suffers horrifically in this sort of environment. Parts of us start falling off! You think we are rotting, but you humans are wrong so often. You think you know everything.
But we finally managed to communicate! Someone threw their paint cans at us, a graffiti artist, and we were off. He was a mere amateur with color. No one can color like a zombie! The humans are jealous and beg us to teach them. A few have even begged to become zombies, so that they can see color the way we do. No way. We aren’t stupid enough to do that. You’ll just have to keep paying us to paint the beauty that feeds us and that you long for now too!
I am so proud of my art and proud that we zombies have been freed and at last are welcomed by humans.
It has been horrible to have the zombies take over cities, but the surprise has been color. The zombies love color and it mesmerizes them. We all carried paints and spray paint and brushes for the zombies at first. Hand a zombie any paint and they wonβt bite you! People quickly realized that the more brightly we color everything, the less chance of being bitten. Now our clothes are rainbows of riotous color, black suits gone forever. There are now well known zombie artists, hired to brighten and decorate nearly anything.
I found this calcedony nodule on North Beach about a week ago. The lines in it are layers laid down over years and years, as the mineral crystals lined a space and precipitated. The different colors in the stripes mean different impurities. This is one of the biggest pieces that I’ve found on the beaches here.
Discover and re-discover Mexicoβs cuisine, culture and history through the recipes, backyard stories and other interesting findings of an expatriate in Canada
Engaging in some lyrical athletics whilst painting pictures with words and pounding the pavement. I run; blog; write poetry; chase after my kids & drink coffee.
Refugees welcome - FlΓΌchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflΓΌchtete Menschen in der deutschen Sprache. I am writing this blog in English and German because my friends speak English and German. Ich schreibe auf Deutsch und Englisch, weil meine Freunde Deutsch und Englisch sprechen.
KO Rural Mad As Hell Blog 
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