Working with Wet Wood In the Wet Wood

 

I was out in the woods behind my house, and I came across a lot of branches and roots scattered about. Everything is so wet and broken after a week of rain and wind. As I was looking at the variety of shapes and sizes of branches and how they interacted with each other, a deer wandered across an open space and into the shadows of the trees its feet silent on the soft ground. Like a creature from a dream, it moved slowly and continuously disappearing as it went under the trees.

I gathered some branches and carried them back to a flat open space behind the garage in back of my house. I remember what Andy Goldsworthy said about the work keeping you warm when it is going well. I can’t say objectively how it went, but I did not notice the cold and wet while I arranged the branches. I worked for almost an hour and as it was getting dark snapped a few pictures of my progress. I will work some more tomorrow. The branches are light and brittle. I expected them to be more water logged. I am thinking I should call it “Brittle Wood Weaving.” It is far from finished and some other name might occur to me. It is pleasant work almost like meditation when I am absorbed in it. Taking the pictures in the half light was frustrating though and made me almost forget how natural the rest of the experience was. Process is experience and product is documentation of the experience. The experience was good. The rest is not important.

Sunday Walk at Dusk

I walk back from the asphalt of the school playground

where I picked up a piece of wood

in the shape of a tree thought

blown from above in the wind

of  two nights ago.

I walk along the sidewalk home thinking

someone might mistake this branch for a gun

in the headlight glare.

so I carry it loosely swinging by two fingers

pointing the delicate web of lichen into the headlight

to reflect pale green above the gray silver bark.

maybe they see me and think

about the darkness that I am not.

maybe they only see me vaguely with no comprehension

simply a blank silhouette against the dark shadow trees

and the sky holding the last of the day’s blue around the edges of

oncoming clouds.

Maybe they see me and think.

 

 

 

I don’t do enough walking at night. It is strange how it makes me feel younger, a little adventurous, but not in danger.  My mind opens up in different ways when I walk in the dark. I become much less a visual creature and stretch out more with my thoughts, trusting my feet to fall right.

Before my walk I was feeling a bit harassed by thoughts of things I wanted to get done before my weekend comes to a close. Now I feel calmly ready to get what I can done. And I will let tomorrow take care of itself.

Tree Shadow Curtain Sunrise

The Owl Came Calling

In the night and early morning hours, sometimes just before dawn, I have heard the owl’s gentle call as it hunts on silent wings. A few days ago we got to add a visual image to the audio. The owl perched on our awning for a couple of hours before dusk, letting us get very close. Every once in a while it would clack its beak at us if we got too close. Then as soon as the sun went behind the trees it carefully preened its feathers, running its short beak over the long tail feathers, lifting up its body feathers like a skirt to reveal the unexpected long legs covered in furlike white down, almost like fluffy tights. Its whole image like some old monkish woman in a shawl, patient and ancient. And suddenly it stretched out silent wings and glided away into the shadows over the neighbors roof.

I looked at some pictures and found out that it is a barred owl. At first we thought it a young great grey, which people had sighted in the neighborhood, that had wandered away from its parents, and which I thought I had been hearing. But I think it more likely I had heard this one.

Yellow Glass Shadows