Phoenix Rising

There are few things more precious than handmade cards, more endearing than hearfelt, honest words of encouragement and well-wishing, or more accurate than the thoughtful gift sent by a friend or lover who truly understands your taste & style and shows attentive interest in the things that interest you.

Dominique, sent me a print of my most favorite and famously representative red elfin female – “Ember – The Fire Sprite ” by Ruth Thompson. Matted.

and . . . SIGNED, by the artist, to ME!

She also sent a hilarious card that brought the realm of friendship down to earth (yes, we must go to that place some day, plenty of beers and people for ridicule)

But it was the deeply buried card that i almost overlooked that struck something in me. A handwritten card with red & blue-accented artful text, well-placed stamps and a quote from Neil Gaiman’s Sandman that made me think of the places i’ve been. The strange and personal suffering i’ve felt. The quiet undertow of sadness that at times, burst and burned full to misplaced anger.

Only the Phoenix arises and does not descend,
And everything changes. And nothing is truly lost

Of course, we all know the myth of the Phoenix well . . . it represents eternal life, grace, beauty, good luck, the Empress, female energy, and the southern direction. Dominique, hailing from Georgia and bringing all this goodness and light to me, you are an Empress of the highest order from the southern direction.

And you have reminded me that i am loved, respected, thought of, supported, believed in, and a friend – in all this spirit, despite having never met in the flesh.

“Life’s like an hourglass glued to the table,” says folk singer Anna Nalick and “endurance makes one divine,” says the wisdom of death-metal band Morbid Angel. And i have to deeply agree with both . . .

For as the Phoenix, though we are not immortal, we endure a cycle of self-immolation and resurrection, tiny tragedies, minor catastrophies, and sometimes – major hurt, heartache & loss and the sand keeps slipping. All of it is a burning, and from our own ashes we are able to emerge in a new flame, a new life spread out before us, bearing feathers of red and gold.


3 strange days

it started with a scratchy throat and then some wild bouts of sneezing, and well, it’s moved down into my chest, wheezing and coughing, & this damn runny nose . . . i ache everywhere – even my fingernails hurt.

i have surfaced from my Nyquil haze  . . .

it’s official.
i’m sick.

i don’t get sick very often, but when i do, i do it up nicely. i do love sleep, however and i am doing plenty of that, filling the pages of my dream journal as i wake. (must be the Nyquil)

i think i’m going to attempt a shower now.

will someone come make me some tea and bring me soup and popsicles?

pets, photography, writing

Kaete Girl Dog

Kaete on guard

my dog – well . . .
our dog, the family dog died.

Kaete (kay-ta) died and was buried
on our property.

We spent last nite with her, petting her,
holding her head, she looked at us and
we talked about her as if she were
already gone – a eulogy in progress.

we told her stories of all the reasons
and ways and times we loved and
appreciated her.

it was a beautiful nite on our deck, she
sat on a blanket and we covered her in
another, so she would be warm, as she
could not move.

but she heard us, and knew us, and watched us
and loved us as we loved her – chasing our cars
and putting the cat’s head in her mouth to lick
and moaning as if to speak and all those you forget
when someone, or some creature is no longer there
to fill the quiet space . . . .

i love you girl dog.

muddy rest