Don’t look contradiction straight in the eye.
Too late, become stone.
Wrap gray around you like a blanket.
Focus on the words.
Focus on that melody fading.
Focus on your hands in warm soapy water.
Focus on these tiny vengeances.
Pretend there is no knife in your hand.
whole little flock of song sparrows weaving in and out of the prairie plants. dozen or so and a cardinal. otherwise it’s almost still. quiet. ‘then you let your love abound and you bring me to my knees.’ goldfinches. robins hunkered down among the oaks. making Room. a little chaos a good sign. things you never talk about. dangerous territory to avoid. so. stew of resentment. bluejays. things you see so often you take them for granted. good to use the binos and really see them. silence a coin with two sides, standing on edge. it’d be nice now to come across some old coneflower… rub the seeds and smell summer again… goldfinch. canada geese and mallards in the river. cardinal. kingfisher heard. scolding a hawk. there he is, on a dead branch over the river. scolding me, now.
Quote: (abound): Fiona Apple / ‘Shadowboxer’ from Tidal (1996)
fieldnotes was written at the Marsh beginning Sept. 26, 2016 and ending near the same time in the following year, collected in memo books over the course of many rambling walks.
Beginning on Sept. 26, 2019, three years after the writing, fieldnotes will be published in its entirety, with posts appearing as the corresponding write-dates occur.
(at least to the best of my ability)