Damp clouds hug the earth.
Press their cheek to mud and clay.
And lift to leave the stain of
Stubborn, purple headed weeds,
Banish the winter!
Postpone the heat!
Driven by springs insatiable beat,
I begin to itch from inside-out.
This fever a contagious malady
Soothed only by spring’s
Cool, soft, damp melody.
Morning clouds hug me close,
Press your dewy brow to mine.
Sun, plant your lips delicate, fine,
To my cheeks.
After a delightful morning of wandering down King Street and through the farmer’s market with Stephanie, I got home feeling unexplainable sacked – exhausted.
Rejuvenation was found in a page, as it often is. But this time, in an exploratory mood, and under the injunction of Fred and Leslie, I chose to journal with watercolors and pencils. I began sketching, in poor imitation, the flowers from the market. I scribbled the word “friend” between the flowers and a “V” bird that I drew above – so many friends have flown away as time demands. Without my intention, the word “END” rose out of its enclosure in “friend,” a different font, a larger point.
I think that even in the midst of spending time with a new friend – doing my favorite things – walking along a waterfront in the sunshine, perusing a farmer’s market and nursing a cup of coffee…
I couldn’t help but recall the deliciously, lingering memories of the ends of Olympia’s Farmer’s Market, living life and getting drunk on coffee with Dana, sniffing smoked pepper at Burt’s Spice Emporium… so that even in the body of new experiences, flows the life blood of old and precious memories.