Week 3 of 100 Day Project

The embroidered strip of felt and the accordion book of my flower photos to be continued during week 4, making it easy to grab 5 minutes a day to stay on track. (Hot glue flowers, stencil and prints/off-prints, the paper that was under the stencil when I cut it out.

Second Week of 100 Day Project

This week, I carved a little stamp in a Dollar Store eraser and explored using that. Also, Francesca Nunes has a posting that showed punching paper for texture so I did a bit of that as well. Reusing some printing blocks I made for Wanderlust in the past.

Leap Day

In any other year

by human miscalculation

it would be March today

but

the maples know

their branch tips show

the punctuation of spring.

-------------::-::-

First Week of 100 Day Project: Flower Box

 

Making 100 Days of

Flowers/Garden themed "collage fodder."

March Is Breezing In

Maple sugaring time

Restless roots dream of flowers

The sweet sap rises

Maybe . . .

The first Chipmunk of Spring

appeared here 

scavenging under the bird feeder

two days ahead of an incoming storm

a non-committal precipitation event:

maybe snow

maybe rain 

maybe the chipmunk will doze below

so he doesn't get wet

maybe for some days

maybe for a week or so

maybe he was asleep

when the groundhog rolled over

and grumbled '6 more weeks.' 

Open the Window:

Open the window:

Yes,

the temperature hovers at freezing

but, misty and damp, the

snow melt

flavors the air

with the taste of spring.

And crows are not the only singers

today

wrens

chickadees

a downy woodpecker

and more distant calls

pepper the ears of

squirrels

wet with melting snow at

war with the juncos 

to gain a spot at the feeder.

Sublimation

At the end of the day,

mist, rising from the frozen snow,

beckoned to say:

come out -- feel the breath of spring . . .

but it was so silent, raw, and sunless . . .

on that blank white canvas

of snow into sky where

mist rose from the frozen snow

at the end of the day.

Nature log January 17

a month and a half

since I saw them last

I suppose you could

say I haven't now

but their hoof prints walk

white in the blue snow

down the hemlock hill

up through others woods

Poetry poses problems without answering

Overtly states things that I'd rather not know

Enters into my daydreams and nightmares

Tickles my funny bone with the light feather of wit

Reverses my opinions, or at least jumbles them into a tangle

Yet I keep reading . . .

Sleep at last . . .

The snow arrived -

every bit that didn't make it for Christmas -

burying the bird feeder

and the colored lights we turned on anyway.

But now the dormant plants

can doze

reposing

until

the next

equinox.