Please don't go, Dairy Hollow

 Back in 2012 I wrote the following words as I prepared to leave the Writers' Colony and this morning my heart still connects with the sad song of departure with grace and gratitude:

I will follow you back to here, right here where we first met and I will hug you longer than I ever have. As I pack my car with all we have done together--the joy of making poems, the blues of shredding the imperfect ones only to remember memorable lines from them, watching the sunset and then rushing in to write about it. We sat in the dark with the window open listening to the raucous sound of night creatures. I watch you in my rear view mirror as you move away behind me and disappear as I drive around the Spring Street bend just beyond Grotto Springs---

Stress-Less

During this stay at the Writers' Colony, I am beginning to catch on to how to live with less stress: get plenty of sleep; do what you want to do, even if it is tasks that must be done; live simply; don't expect other people to bring you happiness; don't expect the world to make you happy; live where you want to live--the rest of your life will follow; recognize your passion; know what you love to do and where your creativity lies--just do it, don't give a hoot whether it makes sense or not. Do not judge yourself or others; live in your own kindness; get rid of your TV but find some way to watch movies and baseball; read the books that speak to you ("read me"). Go to a beautiful hotel with someone you love; eat brunch; notice when you smile with your head up musing; say "Yes" more often; take walks; find independent bookstores; do Yoga.

Tulip Time

 the best
 the most valuable moment
 an earthling can have happens
 when waking to this new day
 excited to live it full stop
 no spaces to fill
 no holes of sorrow to trip into          
 just a soft dry sponge ready to soak it all up
 to experience what comes
 and to be okay with what does not
 the day does not end       until
 I say  thank you       until
 you know how very special you are and
 how wonderful it is to meet you here   
 within the layers of a dogwood spring   
 as cream  and  pink  blossoms  float  in  place
 within the green                  within the brown
 woods     of
                 a    dairy hollow      evening.

Carnegie Library

This lovely library sits on the edge of downtown Eureka Springs. Andrew Carnegie, a Scottish-American donated the money to build libraries throughout the world including about 1,689 in the United States (what I learned today). Since I hurt my knee and knew my walking the town was going to be curtailed this trip, my goal was to walk the 1/2 mile to this library from the Writers' Colony. Today, I made the journey and as you can see it was worth the effort. I strolled around the library with my phone camera and took several photos. It was such a thrill. I told the librarian there that I was taking these pics because it has been a long time since I have seen a library with real hard backed books and paper pages. They even have a new book shelf . . . the books are still being added to the collection. This was such a boost to my book loving librarian self that I took "Small Victories" by Anne Lamott off the shelf and sat in one of the rockers by the fireplace (un-lit at this time). Tomorrow, I'll explore the mezzanine. Oh, I wish everyone could have the experience of visiting a place so dear to their hearts as I had today by simply visiting this library. Thank you, Mr. Carnegie and Eureka Springs!

Scenes of Dairy Hollow

[Afternoon]

It is warm and bright and wind scrapes
branches of the dogwood
against the gray limestone mountain wall
and plucks leaves off the magnolia sending
them tumbling down Spring Street
as motorcycles roar slowly by following
necessity of “Steep and Crooked” hillside roads.
[Late Afternoon]
Sunlight bends shadows of the oak tree backwards as I look to
the east from my study window and in
the wooded hollow, light and shadows
constantly vie for attention bringing a
sharp edge to the peeling bark of the
river birch and emphasizing
the dark of the shadowed rock cave halfway
up the mountain’s east wall.
[Evening]
Just a moment later, as the sun begins to
drop, I can hear coyotes calling to each other
in a native language of hunger.
[Night]
Always here, night
reveals the velvet darkness
of her soul.

Thunder and Mountains and Baseball

Good Morning! Oh, happy day, Friday! My phone is charging so I don’t know if the sun comes up or goes down. I don’t know if it will be cloudy or sunny or somewhere in between. I don’t know if it will be cold or cool, going to rain or going to sun. But, I do know now and now the weather is a storm with lightning followed by thunder that rolls through the hills and valleys before becoming soft as it travels on – the rain is pelting and the holly bush by the front porch sways and bends under its pressure. I just made coffee and turned on the lights in the study.

Across the street is the beginning of the mountain at the top of which stands the Historic Crescent Hotel. The mountains here begin not with a gentle rising of the earth but with native limestone walls headed straight up. So straight that buildings and houses are built almost flat against the dependable sturdy rock. The mountain is so mightily strong that an upper level of town sits on top of it where the rock becomes flat and succulent ground cover flows across the top. There are gardens and spaces for wild flowers to appear and amazingly giant oak trees and birches with silver bark flourish.

The rain is letting up and the lightning and thunder have moved on. Birds begin to catch-up on their morning conversations. The sky is still dark gray, the mist continues -- it is time for a second cup of coffee and writing by lamplight.
I yearn for nothing more except to tell you that the Royals won a rather raucous game last night. A game I stayed with in spite of a static filled reception from the small radio I brought from home – I fell asleep in the middle of the 10^th inning and awoke at 3:30 to check the score -- Hosmer "smokes RBI double for lead in the 13th" and I smiled and fell back to sleep as the rain began in earnest outside my cozy writing studio with the 2 turquoise wicker chairs.

If I Knew

This print came from an idea for the Unity on the Plaza gallery art show for the month of March, 2015. It carries the theme of the show. Guests and members were invited to fill out cards with their own ideas of what they would do if they could not fail. The process was a success with cards and statements covering the gallery walls. One of my own cards was, "If I knew I could not fail I would drive to the Writers' Colony in Eureka Springs this spring." Because of a bum knee I knew it would not be possible for me to make the drive but . . . if I could I would. Never did I imagine that my husband would say (during a March Madness basketball game), "Why don't I take you to Eureka Springs?" The thought of someone else driving never entered my mind and I replied, "It is a 4 hour drive each way." Of course he knew that but wanted to take me because "you enjoy it so much." So, here I am as gratitude surrounds me! Two out of three cards have come to fruition and the third is a dream in process. Think about it . . . dreams do come true. 

Rain Light

Raining furiously at 10:30 a.m. and so dark that I have the lights on in order to see what I am writing.

Interestingly, I just read a piece from J. Ruth Gendler’s Changing Light: “Light spills over, light breaks through, light drenches us as thoroughly as rain. I listen eagerly as perceptive artists talk about kinds of light. Drawing with lines of light. Light bites into things. Light hits the Pacific and strikes off the ocean waters. Walking in the redwood fog, everything is lit from within. Over my desk three words: ‘Light determines form.’ We are all described by light. Defined by light. Outlined by light.” Rain is pelting the skylight and the street lights just came on. As I look beyond the window the trees are lit from within, the spring leaves glowing with unstoppable awakening. Slender green blades of grass pulled upward by gray light even as the heavy drops hit upon them. I feel dull inside as the cleansing water tempts me into the light of its April shower.