Fire Tops

I waited in the early morning darkness
Breath billowing out in long streams
Finger tips wrapped tight in fisted hands
Dug deep in pockets

The shift in light was so subtle
Suddenly I could see the higher branches
Two crows peered at me as though I intruded
Naked feathers, naked sight

Then it licked the tops in fire and light
My heart beat faster than the shutter
The moment was brief to catch with camera
Yet as quickly as I began, my hand was stayed

Sunrise is a communion I often forget
A flicker of awakening to the earth and the mind
In activity I am artist but a bit asleep
In stillness I awaken as part of the art.

Scraps and Pieces

Encaustic on wax paper: Collage by Noelle

Encaustic on wax paper: Collage by Noelle

We’re all made up of scraps and pieces – some bright and colorful as peacock feathers, while others dull as mud. Separately, maybe nothing much, but thrown together within you – beautiful.

Celebrate your ragged edges and your patched up holes. You are, at once, as common as a white button and as wild as the Helix nebula exploding in the constellation of Aquarius.

Pour

Free Bing Photos

Free Bing Photos

I wait to empty as all of me pours out
Big rivers and sewer streams
Grass dew and leaky faucets
Gushing forth in love and
Madness, and still
On and on it falls
Draining darkly
Until I feel
My vastness
Running as
Clear as
A deep
Blue
Sea

Van Gogh’s Nap

Sewer Run Off better known as The Sewer Sprite: Photo by Noelle

Sewer Run Off better known as The Sewer Sprite: Photo montage by Noelle

The quilt is for someone else. A body that will fill the space that now lies empty. Not my room and yet it is all about me, so I come here often. Shafts drift through Grannie curtains I should’ve taken down, but there’s no more money in the coffer so lace dresses up the poor girl’s pockets. The cats purr on the sills marking the territory with sonar and fur. Nothing much here, except my heart beats louder as I step across the threshold and smell the coconut verbena candles. Something of me that is good and sound lives here. Paint brushes stick out of the overstuffed closet that holds my art. Spent tubes and coffee stir sticks are meant to look neat in cups on shelves. Neat and art are antonyms, really, but I need the order in the chaos to feel accomplished, if at nothing more than organization. If the closet door is closed it’s a lovely, pristine guest room waiting quietly for visitors. But open that door and it’s color and chaos spill into the room a garden of wild flowers. My mind couldn’t be better described and maybe that’s why I come here. To see myself in furniture, folded blankets and used up canvases. The cat stretches in the sun and I lie back on the day bed in the warm pool of light, too. It is right to nap in the light and chaos of one’s creative genius. At least until the guests arrive.