I was doing something...

... and thought I ought to light the candle on the window sill.

Then I thought I ought to take a picture of it.

Becuase experiencing something isn't enough.

You have to photo it as well... to make it... count?

Then I saw the chicken coop out the window.

And I thought about Henny Penny all alone out there and how she is always cheerful and clucky and seems so pleased by the meager bits of lettuce that I chuck on the ground for her.

I should try to be more chicken-like, I think.

Italics mine

The Source of Kindness

Anyone who genuinely and constantly with both hands
looks for something, will find it.

Though you are lame and bent over, keep moving
toward the Friend.

With speech, with silence,
with sniffing about, stay on track.

Whenever some kindness comes to you,
turn that way,
toward the source of kindness.

Love-things originate in the ocean.
Restlessness leads to rest.

~ Rumi ~

My Awesomely Attired Feet, A Mole's Life Revealed, and Other Miscellaneous Snowy Things

You see just to the left in the upper corner? 

That is a Mole's Life Revealed!

I saw the mole!

He was scurrying away in a fright as I crunched up the trail.

 There was a mind-boggling thaw last week -- 50 degrees and raining -- then a spate of below zero and powdery cold flurries. It left the things which live in the woods exposed and confused.

  I hiked to this beautiful lean-to on a beautiful remote pond in a beautiful remote spot in the Adirondacks.

 Ahhhh, lunch time shelter.

 It was a bit to cold to linger long.

 But the cold made my little meal seem feast-like and tantalizingly yummy.

 And there was a lovely view of the pond. It was snowy and blowing.

 But the NEXT day? WOW-ZERS! The sky was a bright Adirondack blue.

Awesome Deep Snow With Moose Tracks

Up in the wilds we were intrepidatious and adventuristic.

Trail closed. Pfft. Let's go anyway.

Irene, you bitch.

Just a couple of trees down. Nothing too serious.

We saw the depressions where 5 large bodies slept. Moose or trolls, we weren't sure which.

We saw other interesting things, too.

Iced troll penis?

Why I Love Vermont

15 below zero yesterday

Chicky Chick got a second heat lamp

A balmy zero this morning

Chicken Pity

I always feel more sorry for Dessie when there are unusual weather things going on. Today there is a big snow storm so I brought her home a head of old lettuce from the store.

Ginnungagap

I have heard that Ginnungagap,

where the fire and ice meet,

is a place of dark, warm moisture.

And rain.

Lots of rain.

 

There was a cow, Audumla,

that licked the ice and rime with her rough warm tongue.

She licked Ymir, the giant, out of the ice.

And from Ymir’s body the world was created.

 

Nothing like that happened here, of course.

No worlds were created,

no seas, no skies, no stars, no trees, no grass. 

There were no giants.

 

It just rained a lot 

and a lot of wine was drunk 

and secrets were told and forgotten.

 

Still, while the rain was falling

and the fire was hot and high,

it felt like a place of magical power

where startling things might emerge out of nothingness.

 

waiting no more

The first hot day came

and it changed

everything.

It changed everything inside of me

and it changed everything outside.

The bloodroot bloomed,

and the colt's foot,

and the lazy, sensuous desire

to take off my jewelry

and stretch out on the forest moss

bloomed.

Still waiting

 Winter

Spring

Dog Holler

I lived down in Dog Holler most 'a 15 years. I miss it now, like I'd miss my hand, if'n somebody cut off my hand. Like I'd miss my foot, somebody cut off my foot.

I close my eyes, I still see the moon comin' up over Dog Holler Mountain. All big and white and beamin' down love juice all over them hills and trees. All over me. It stuck to me, that love juice. Ain't nothin' gonna wash it off now.

Biggest question I get asked up here, "Do you like livin' in Vermont?" Well, I like livin'. So, sure I like livin' in Vermont. But there ain't no redbud here. Ain't no dogwood. Ain't no sarviceberry. Ain't hardly no spring. Spring up here test your faith. That's resurrection, I s'pose. Can be a stickin' point for some folks. Me? I don't care whether it come out a seed, an egg, a womb or Christ's tomb. It's all the birth 'a love in the world. Up here, you just gotta wait longer 'n look harder. You remember I told you that: sometimes you gotta wait longer 'n look harder.

You can't hardly forget spring in Dog Holler, even you been through it but only once. Flowers everywhere. Locust tree stink up the air in the spring, all them flowers hangin' down. You ever seen a honey locust tree? Big thorns growin' all up the trunk. Oddest lookin' thing. If God had made the Tree 'a Knowledge a honey locust tree, ain't none of us be wearin' any clothes right now. I think God wanted Eve to eat that apple. Been easy enough get her to stop.

Anyway, I love all them trees down there. Shagbark hickory. Black walnut. Butternut. Horse chestnut. White oak. Red oak. Pin oak. My heart still want oak. Hawthorn, cedar, juniper. Virgin hemlock. You got the patience to walk to 'em, them trees'll show you some power. Copper beech, sycamore. Liriodendron tulipifera. Now she's a beauty, ain't no thorns on her. Roll around right nice in your mouth, don't it? Liriodendron tulipifera. I was in love with a whole grove 'a yellow poplar over on Dog Holler Mountain. I watched that patch 'a mountain turn yellow every fall.

And in the summer, chicory grow so thick, sit on my porch and watch the hay pasture turn hazy blue. First lark I ever saw looked right up at me outta that hazy blue. This minute, I can't think 'a nothin' more beautiful 'n that lark. 'Less maybe it's the mockin' bird singin' at night. Prettier 'n a silver flute, that is. Beauty drippin' outta that bird, right into me.

And it weren't just the trees and the birds, neither. Was the people, too. 'Cause I showed up 'bout as queer as a 3 dollar bill. People just let me be who I was and let me become whatever I was gonna become.
 
I remember the first time I drove up Dog Holler Road. First mile all in the woods. Then, bustin' outta the trees, this scene open up before me like a song outta my heart. Mountains all around, pastures full 'a thick green grass, dogwood in bloom, big white house with porch all around it. 

Like God was settin' a trap for me. He was. Settin' a trap. And I was so happy gettin' caught in it. Shoot, I like livin'. I wonder what trap God is settin' for me now? I guess, I wanna know, I'm jus' gonna have to wait longer 'n look harder. You remember I told you that.

Spring in Vermont

This here's a picture of spring in Vermont.

I am sure it is spring because, yesterday, I was caught out at Morning Sing for not having any spring songs ready. I was told, "But, Ms. Sanglier, this is spring in Vermont."

So today I decided to document this remarkable statement with photographic evidence. To be fair, as I took the above photo, there were robins hopping about near me and I heard the singing of red-winged blackbirds. I also noticed that the willow trees were showing a slightly enhanced shade of yellowish ochre, which can only mean one thing: it is, indeed, spring in Vermont.

And this is spring in Clover Hollow, same time of year... early April... same kind of weather... snow. But look across the road... the garden is plowed. And the redbud and wedding bush are in bloom. Now THAT is spring!

Your Beautiful Parched, Holy Mouth

A poet is someone

Who can pour light into a spoon,

Then raise it

To nourish

Your beautiful parched, holy mouth.

Hafiz (14th century, Persia) from I Heard God Laughing

The harp partially revealed

Gathering Forces

While I manifest a video recording device (so that I may better showcase my utter lack of talent) I amuse myself by contemplating what it takes to perform: ego forces, soul forces, life forces, and vodka forces.

Note: Please be advised that Le Sanglier has been working on soul/spiritual development for many years. The appearance of the word many in front of the word years indicates that her life forces, due to natural aging processes, may have fallen below the threshold required for performing. Perhaps she should have been working on her technique all those years and left her ego and soul to their own devices. There is no question that she ought to have let her ardor for playing Chopin on the piano cool, particularly in the light of his continued indifference toward her. She can recommend the vodka, though. It is excellent.

The Bore's Den

It is here that Le Sanglier sits, brewing fire in her cauldron and feeling the seasons ferment around her. Islands arise in the briny sea of thought. Volcanoes erupt. Flames spit and surge. Beyond the fire and the flame lie frozen wastes of ice and fog. And bobbing along, in a tiny ship of heart, goes she.
 

The wildboar inside

What's all this about wildboars? In what woods lives this wildboar? Why does this wildboar seek to distract itself by posing as a sexy French version of its pedestrian English self? Le Sanglier will tell you now...

I was born with a wild and gullible heart. Being wild I sought danger. Being gullible I was afraid.

Or... am I actually the Wild Bore? Oh. I have to think about that.