The cure for all things, according To Isak Dinesan, is salt water: sweat, tears, Or the sea. Today was sweat, eight hours of washing, Taping and painting. Up and down ladders, It looks good. I am tired and in a better mood, even before A friend called asking for me and the painter Will come tomorrow. The summer solstice sun is setting but a few Degrees south this evening. The distance of A tree trunk.
Days past solstice the sunset comes late; I do love long evenings settling into dusk, Gift of light. The dogs romp through the labyrinth, the sun lowers and I am engulfed by the humid air Under hazed skies. Rain is needed, more than what fell yesterday, But now all is still and verdant, Quiet and close.
I find hardest not having anyone who cares. A simple fact that indeed makes me blue. For I do Not make friends easily. A panacea proscribed For sadness is do something, preferably requiring Handwork and dirt. So, cut acres of grass, fixed the bandsaw, made Cuts for several palettes. Already nice in hand, Already becoming beautiful.
Alone is not necessarily lonely, but it is Alone, is, still just alone. And with that alone-ness Comes disquiet, questions Questions still, how to navigate this landscape, Alone, without you here. How, with you near only In my heart, Not always enough, alone I flail through time Wrapped in despair, depressed past hope, alone, doing, Heart hurt, still.
Time taken to clean the workshop, well spent. Time given at the carving bench, all the Tools in order Time sitting where you did, doors open, Breeze off the river wafting through, Hear corn rustling, Time for pleasant sounds, all that surrounds, Time with your tools, feel wood under hand change As am I.
The corn is nigh on six feet tall along the mile Long fields to and behind the house. This year, I will be hemmed in Held closed by this crop. This year I can bear that. A few years since the last the corn grew, Cloaking, Guarding sentinels. This year I can tolerate if no longer embrace how The corn limits views. Only this year do I feel strength To do so.
Summer solstice, I went to hear our neighbor sing Her voice is beautiful , still. Wish only her backup Had been quieter Still it was good to sit with friends in the cool Pine grove under gray skies listening to Gospel blues grass. Of course you sat with me front and center In my mind and heart for of course you did Love this music.
Could be here, I doubt it. This day I went to a drawing session. I enjoy these, But I am Not a really a part of this group, only a Subsidiary, welcomed but not really a part of. Not really a part of....that is the part that Is now my life. Not really a part of.....where Is my part.
Housekeeping, I do this in fits and starts. I do this thinking of the beautiful places We have lived And now this last? Mine to husband, even, Perhaps beyond what is needed. It is what I can do. What I seem not able to do, is choose For myself a place good for me. Could be Here, I doubt it,
Hot today, and as parts of the house get painted I work inside, comfortably, comfortable in this house, that Was our home. A good evening with friends celebrating a birthday, I am included, well included, and yet I am aware I am Not really family. Not family, no longer, mine was a small family and Is no longer. Perhaps it is time to find family I can again Live near by.
All those years ago, learning to live with you, Enfold our lives together was easy Where that remains Is ensconced in my soul. All these years, Learning to live no longer having you Right by me, Has been hard. However I hold your love Close , hold the heart of you, what remains Is me alone.
Thunderstorms that devil my Arlo dog, but allow me To peruse the house, yet again, and decide, glide Within this home And slide more unwanted away. Unwanted now is Detritus even we rarely needed and I for sure No longer do. What do I need now. You. But you are not here. What do I need now? A sense of place, a home Of my own.
Listening to friends’ blues radio show, Listening and painting clouds storming Above the marshes, Painting is what I do now, painting. And sometimes it does carry me All the way To okay. When it doesn’t? It is My old troubles deviling my Soul into corners.
That sense of place, that idea I have carried these days, That sense of place I have no longer yet that sense of place Need to find Need to find where I need going and where I belong, Where I want to be. Where is that? A place where again I feel home.
Sense of place, you were mine as I was yours, and That was then, however good, this is now and I do Not have that. I have only me, alone with the memory of your Love to support where I am, am going now On my own. On my own, a possibility I had never the chance To consider what I do on my own, what to do On my own.
Met with a friend so she could get her dog back, I’ll not see her again until sometime next month. Life goes on, Finally can face that where I go now Is up to me only. Yet I feel bewildered atop A precipice of choice, With my sense of place was thrown so a-kilter, Sense of connection diminished, what I want Still not clear.
Here’s the thing, while I am learning to live alone, And even finding it is okay, when it isn’t? What I miss Is you. Yes, slowly am I learning to live beyond my Time with you. So now, however lost I feel, slowly am learning Wherever I go, know in heart,and soul, will I Always hold you.
It does seem that I am not as enamored of Filling days with being elsewhere, of just Being too busy. I believe ones path in life loops and spirals, Changes terrain both sweetly and not, but closed Into a circle? I think not. At least I hope not, seems limiting and Lately I fear that fate, while looking for strength to Bear against that.
Some days time fills in well and some days I am too filled with excess time and Feeling stretched thin. Some this day is being tired from a scared Dog and thunder and no sleep and Feeling stretched thin Some is from the expanse of time “since” From being alone and without you and Feeling stretched thin.
A see ya in the morning, a hello later Friends come by, stay and go. I am glad but They aren’t you. I hear so often of studies which declaim how bad being alone is, shortens one’s life. Pah! I believe, I believe, loosing years not be so bad, Bad is not being able to live What’s left well.
A day with rest before prepping dinner For friends: clams and shrimp, bright greens In a salad, Fresh asparagus wrapped in bacon, A special cake without a birthday near by To celebrate, so: Thank you, my brother, I wish for you A good day from this into all the nexts. Thank-you for caring.
A friend, a guest, enjoys this house and While working the gardens here speaks of stories, Of the need We all have to tell our stories. How we all do. Yesterday I rode with friends, dined with friends, Swapped some stories And made a few more. We all need moments good Enough to morph into stories, to be carried in mind, Spoken through heart.
The Studio at Line's End Farm is where I paint and try to find some joy again, and some equilibrium, not simple these days. One weblog records thoughts, ideas, methods and mixtures, palettes, observations, actually anything that intrigues me concerning my painting and working in the studio. Another observes only the horse in paintings that I find influential. The last are done for my sanity. All are my opinion only, open to other suggestions.