About Me

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i moved where my heart had drifted off to long before. i live on a hill of hundred acres, where my dreams have merged with the view. it is quiet from machine noises yet loud with sounds of horses, dogs, cats chickens and ducks. nature is the true artist in resident and i am just her apprentice who often gets lost in her gaze. once and a while i travel back to cities and foreign places to put into photographs what i have learned, yet always, part of my heart is left on the hill..

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

this is wool


today, I got to see you and you
and her and you and them and you
today I was me, the me I understand,
the me I am comfortable with. It was the
i , that was happy to be there creating, planning
cultivating, building, designing....it was me
I heard you laugh again, it was I that was happy
again.........this is me when I am wool and wool
is me

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

THE SADNESS OF THE MOON

by: Charles Baudelaire

HE Moon more indolently dreams to-night
Than a fair woman on her couch at rest,
Caressing, with a hand distraught and light,
Before she sleeps, the contour of her breast.

Upon her silken avalanche of down,
Dying she breathes a long and swooning sigh;
And watches the white visions past her flown,
Which rise like blossoms to the azure sky.

And when, at times, wrapped in her languor deep,
Earthward she lets a furtive tear-drop flow,
Some pious poet, enemy of sleep,

Takes in his hollow hand the tear of snow
Whence gleams of iris and of opal start,
And hides it from the Sun, deep in his heart.