Sunday, November 27, 2016

art of ice & glass

I see the world is beautiful.


As always.


When a certain temperature meets the river, lingers, rises, falls, just a bit. Maybe add a little wind, a little this, a little that. Magic.


Reality.


The art of ice.


Not to be confused with artifice.


I go to the river and every day this walk to the river and along its bank unleashes in Josie unbridled joy. Have I ever felt the same? This absolute burst of anticipation and enjoyment that has him hurtling each day down the path, down the bank, through the trees, along the shore, onto the log, off the log, into the river, out of the river, up the bank, down the bank, through the leaves, stirring up leaves, stopping still, staring up a tree, a massive cedar, moving on, nose under leaves, nose to sand, nose to snow, nose to scent, following, being led, forging ahead. A dog’s sense of the world—to have that magic. That reality.

I scoured resale shops for glass.


On a new kick, needing color, thinking if we are going to that place in a handbasket, I want my handbasket full of color and light.