Photo Essays, etc.
- Beltane Eve
- Blue River
- Borderlands
- Fairy Pudding
- Fallen
- Fork in the Road
- Great Days
- Keep Going
- Lunar Beltane '06
- More Walkin' With Da Fishes
- My Little Town
- The Old Sea
- Swimming With the Fishes
- White Leaves
Selected Essays
- Bitch Goddess
- Come Away Oh Human Child
- Felled
- Found Constellations
- The Good Wife
- The Great Song
- Head West, Young Woman
- Honey Cookies
- Jaguar/Weeping Woman
- Juvie
- Lifting the Bell Jar
- Mia Amore...
- Odds & Endings
- A Perfect Day
- 13 Suggestions from the Old Mermaids
My Work on Other Websites
- Acting Locally
- Beauty Mark
- Briar Rose
- Communication Breakdown
- Counting on Wildflowers
- Coyote Whispers & Crow
- Have We Come a Long Way?
- Healing the Wounded Wild
- A Hysterical Librarian
- The Irritation
- Let the Wildfires Burn
- Make Love Not War
- Open Letter to a Library Board
- Oh, You Mean Those Immigrants
- Red Rose & Snow White
- Saturday At the Caucus
- War of the Fanatics
- We Are the People
- Wings
Fiction
- Another Country
- Briar Rose
- Carino
- Dragon Pearl
- Foundling
- Solstice Stories
- Journal of Mythic Arts
- Faces of the Fallen
- Iraqi Civilian War Casualties
- Riverbend: Girl Blog from Iraq
- Loo Wit Webcam
- Katrina Help
- August 2003
- September 2003
- October 2003
- November 2003
- December 2003
- January 2004
- February 2004
- March 2004
- April 2004
- May 2004
- June 2004
- July 2004
- August 2004
- September 2004
- October 2004
- November 2004
- December 2004
- January 2005
- February 2005
- March 2005
- April 2005
- May 2005
- June 2005
- July 2005
- August 2005
- September 2005
- October 2005
- November 2005
- December 2005
- January 2006
- February 2006
- March 2006
- April 2006
- May 2006
- June 2006
- July 2006
- August 2006
- September 2006
- October 2006
- November 2006
- December 2006
- January 2007
- February 2007
- March 2007
- April 2007
- May 2007
- June 2007
- July 2007
- August 2007
- September 2007
- October 2007
- November 2007
- December 2007
- January 2008
- February 2008
- March 2008
- April 2008
Misc. Links
Archives
In times of old, The Furies protected Mother Right. If a mother (or any woman) was harmed, The Furies swooped down and took their vengeance. They were one of the last vestiges of a world that existed before the patriarchy. When we feel righteous anger, it is The Furies who are calling out to us to make what is wrong right again.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Spinning Gold
Last night I stood in the dark in the snow, a bright moon illuminating the outdoors like a spotlight. Running toward me was a man and a pack of wolves. I was transfixed by the scene, but something kept pulling on me, distracting me—until finally I came awake to the sound of a chorus of coyotes somewhere outside our home. I stumbled to the window and breathed in star light, cool black air —and the songs of the coyotes. One after another they stopped, then started again, their voices coming from various directions, finding their community in the music of their howls. I was glad they had called to me...
...yet I wondered why I dreamed of black wolves instead of dirty gold coyotes.
Days earlier I squatted next to my squash plants and whispered to them. "Please grow me some vegetables," I said. "What do you need?" Nourishment. So I decided to make compost tea, a suggestion from my friend Linda. I got up, retrieved the shovel from the patio, then lifted the top layers of the compost pile until I came to the delicious glorious rotted-into-black soil. I started to shovel out the composted compost when I saw something blond and round. Gingerly, I moved the soil until I realized the gold was a small yellow finn potato. I took it out from the darkness and shifted the earth carefully again. This time I discovered an entire nest of yellow finn potatoes! That's what they looked like—a nest of the eggs of cave birds, nuggets of smooth round gold, or baby suns getting ready to be birthed. None were attached to a potato plant. They were virgin: whole and unto themselves, each and every one of them. I got a small clay cauldron and put the potato gems into them. Later, I boiled them with pieces of my sacred rosemary plant, then sauteed them in olive oil and ate them. They tasted like buttery Earth...
A few days earlier, I built a small cairn on the hillside next to the compost pile in honor of the Celtic sun goddess Aine, the faery queen. It is said she had a faery palace on a hill where she spent her days "spinning the sunbeams and making gold cloth of the thread." I do not worship a sun god, but I honor the Invisibles. I looked at the small cairn made of four flat stones and hoped she liked her gift. I wondered what would come of it... 0 commentsAll photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.
...yet I wondered why I dreamed of black wolves instead of dirty gold coyotes.
Days earlier I squatted next to my squash plants and whispered to them. "Please grow me some vegetables," I said. "What do you need?" Nourishment. So I decided to make compost tea, a suggestion from my friend Linda. I got up, retrieved the shovel from the patio, then lifted the top layers of the compost pile until I came to the delicious glorious rotted-into-black soil. I started to shovel out the composted compost when I saw something blond and round. Gingerly, I moved the soil until I realized the gold was a small yellow finn potato. I took it out from the darkness and shifted the earth carefully again. This time I discovered an entire nest of yellow finn potatoes! That's what they looked like—a nest of the eggs of cave birds, nuggets of smooth round gold, or baby suns getting ready to be birthed. None were attached to a potato plant. They were virgin: whole and unto themselves, each and every one of them. I got a small clay cauldron and put the potato gems into them. Later, I boiled them with pieces of my sacred rosemary plant, then sauteed them in olive oil and ate them. They tasted like buttery Earth...
A few days earlier, I built a small cairn on the hillside next to the compost pile in honor of the Celtic sun goddess Aine, the faery queen. It is said she had a faery palace on a hill where she spent her days "spinning the sunbeams and making gold cloth of the thread." I do not worship a sun god, but I honor the Invisibles. I looked at the small cairn made of four flat stones and hoped she liked her gift. I wondered what would come of it... 0 comments