pirate boy/ high trestle trail/ beautiful tree/ soon the blizzard of stars. . .

we got a book on making pirate stuff from the library and so we made some of those type things::::::

 and went walking on the high trestle trail, between cornfields, bare and flat and windy and cold
and also beautiful in a barren way::::::

we never made it to the trestle bridge over the des moines river:: but we will this summer:::: on bikes!

 and on the trail we met this beautiful white tree::: perhaps it is being killed by the bushy parasitic-viney-looking things at its base?  anyway these photos don't do justice to this tree's very stark stunning beauty::::

 self-portrait in green sweatshirt, near to age 36::::

it's february; things'll get better; dig the heels in and feel the cold; remember from gluck's poem "the wild iris" that "At the end of my suffering there was a door"::: that's the iris talking, the bulb about to activate, spring to life, shoot out a green stem and eventually flower.  not to sound too dramatic!  after all, it is not simply just suffering, but also the mundane, the mundanity, of february:::::::

sounds that have got me through the winter:
nelly furtado--recently--and she makes me think of neneh cherry, at least this album, Spirit Indestructible, at least the song "parking lot"--remember neneh cherry--buffalo stance???--
oumou sangare, mali musician, amazing:: the album Seya--
talk demonic and then finding random viola-centric music on youtube because of how much i love the viola, due to talk demonic---
fleet foxes--of course--

and reading several biographies, something i haven't ever done much before::
but especially, a biography on jane addams
and a biography written by barbara guest on h.d.--Herself Defined

other things that are good and i'm grateful for right now::

glittery construction paper
baths/ good bathtubs
yoga
thinking
union park near our house & duskish walks with q-dog for thinking's sake
thinking without anxiety, fear, worry
thinking without desperate repetitive loops of anti-tenderness, anti-love bullets
instead of thought-bullets actually thought-waterdrops
chocolate and walnuts
lentils
finn's curious, loving, and strong spirit
the idea of love-strength, as if love could be a muscle that you could keep building
the ability to accept and love what is right now: the now-now
marina tsvetaeva, the poet--her example of writing every day at a beloved desk no matter what; at the desk where she wrote her bills, love letters, poems; her struggle; her amazing example:::::
poem from her (trans. by Ilya Kaminsky, in book Dark Elderberry Branch. . .):

I know the truth

I know the truth! Give up all the other truths.
No time on earth for people to kill each other.
Look--it's evening; look, it's nearly night.  No more
of your talk, poets, lovers, generals.

Now no wind, and the earth is sprinkled with drizzle,
and soon the blizzard of stars will go quiet.
And soon, soon, to sleep, under the earth, all of us,
us who alive on earth don't let us sleep.

some pages from a book about underwater world:::

Small Things (in hopes of new feeling and thinking)/ [the infinite crosses over to gladness]

We are here!::::still in des moines! ::::still adjusting and learning of our new home, and our new selves, in it.  ::::

lots of questions: like, what is home?  [answer: people] also, today finn and i were saying things we were grateful for, and finn said, i'm thankful for the ground, otherwise we'd be in outer space!  we praise gravity.  finnegan goes to two schools now; one has a hamster named chocolate chip, and hermit crabs.  also:: new friends for him!  good thing, because we miss those we love in the far away places, all the time.  but: we keep each other company.  here, i do the dishes as finn asks me how to spell superstar::::

icy creek woods::::::::::::::

do you know where finn is, in the next photo?  you guessed it, chuck e. cheese::::see, i told you, bleak midwinter:::::::::;

blue candles that made me happy to find at goodwill:::: reading the book nine gates: entering the mind of poetry also making me happy::

building homes for a deer family::::::::::

rock collection! new record player that was my christmas present and continually makes me happy:::::

blueberry face on a rice cake::::::

and that is all for now, though i am looking forward to posting some of the books we've been drawing/writing now that i have a new hard drive for my computer::::::

also, this, from rilke:

Happy are those who know:
Behind all words, the Unsayable stands;
And from that source alone, the Infinite
Crosses over to gladness and us--

midwinter/ latewinter::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Bath at 4 and a half!!

fall picnic including thick green algae

we went to this park and had a fall picnic  a few weeks ago; it's the park behind the des moines art center with the andy goldsworthy sculptures

finn said today: mom, did you know, every day, in the sky, it is the same sun, again and again, not a new one, the same sun every day?

also. around halloween time he told me that a crescent moon is a dead person's leg sticking up out of the grave--it's them kicking their leg up to form a crescent.  crescent moon.

.  

h

everything/ brain of des moines

---------------------------------------

I was always aware of a possible silence falling
like the cover of a tomb and engulfing me forever.

The silence overruns the room and I am afraid to hear
my heart beating; this danger coming from inside-
only a continual flow of words can push it aside,
if not control it.

Listen to chaos, waterfall, the Marne locks--
Beethoven, a river that carries rocks and trees,
the thunder rolling by.

--Louise Bourgeois

(::::::;;i found that bit on the blog lemonhound!::)

today, walking, we found andy goldsworthy's "three cairns" and i am in love although i did not have the camera so did not take this photo but stole it from a site:

a cairn is a memorial made of stones, a way to mark a place of significance.  as i mentioned, i am in love.  how can i do that?  

here' s another, stolen from somewhere:

story of something finn suddenly said

Finn said suddenly as we were eating lunch: I think when we're in Des Moines we're in a brain.  I said, Really?  What do you mean?  Finn said, Des Moines is in Iowa City's brain.  Iowa City is below Des Moines.  Really? (laughing) Actually it's in someone inside Iowa City's brain.  It's in Lauren's brain!  So where is Iowa City then?  It's in Des Moines' brain!



how to dance (kid's poem)

cry with your belly.
laugh with your legs.
blossom your arms.
jump with your ears. 
let your body be everything.
let the stars come in.


story of the dreams i've been having

one dream in which i am trying to get a job at ace hardware and it is not working out.  one dream in which my cat gives birth to many black and white kittens and i must protect them and they run all over, chaos.  one dream in which peter suddenly has to go to russia again. one dream in which mitt romney is at the coffee shop where we are and i sort of dumbfoundedly shake his hand but peter runs away, and mitt romney chases him trying to shake his hand.  no! no! 

beginning of renn's poem

how do our souls get in?
they fly past our brothers.
they come out of clouds. 
mystery is the kindness therein.
in this story a cloud gathers all of its arrows.
in this story a rock forms from a marigold,
a baby from a canoe.
in this story is his calm, the calm with which he came here,
as if he were a seedpod.
a circle without fear.

a line i love from frost:

Earth's the best place for love.

what i think

i am a human being i start at the top of the stairs and i weave down, weave space.  all of these things are happening to a human being.  my fingers have held shapes and everything i have held and been and even at times knowing love, changing and trying:::::::::::changing and trying::::::::::::::::; changing and trying and exploring::::::::::and then thinking and hoping ::::::::::::::out of love comes Earth

----------------
rainbow over our house:

the boy who builds worlds:

some blue lanterns:

and since i did just get back from amherst i will leave with this emily dickinson poem:

#822

This Consciousness that is aware
 Of Neighbors and the Sun
Will be the one aware of Death
and that itself alone

Is traversing the interval
Experience between
And  most profound experiment
Appointed unto Men-

How adequate unto itself
Its properties shall be
Itself unto itself and none
Shall make discovery.

Adventure must unto itself
The Soul condemned to be--
Attached by a single Hound
Its own identity.