The Furious Spinner

I'm at the workshop. Arrived yesterday. I'm sitting beneath a willow tree listening to thunder. The thunder echoes in a peculiar way, almost as though it were in a large room. And the willow trees are singing as they dance with the wind: trunks implacably still while their branches and leaves dance, like excited children. Let us play with the wind, please can we, huh, huh, huh?

There be dragons that way. Black clouds trying to cover the sky with their tempting watery selves. Mmmmm. Which to be? Blue, blue, blue? Or black, black, black?

It is so beautiful here. Did I say that? These willow trees must be hundreds of years old. They are huge. It would take five of me, with my arms outstretched, to hug one of them. And the bark is...hmmmm, how would I describe it? It's like corrugated cardboard, only the ridges are snake-like.

Flowers abound. A squirrel is sitting a few feet from me just watching. Damselflies flit here and there. (Tell me, if a dragon actually had flies, would they be called dragonflies?) Ants are attempting to take over the compound. They're red ants. Looking for some human flesh to nosh on.

I can't recall the last time we spoke. (I know I owe lots of letters, but I probably won't get to them for a while.) I did hang out at the Georgia O'Keeffe museum and the Museum of Fine Arts. The real Blue River was at the Museum of Fine Arts. (Remember Blue River? I've got a repro of it in my kitchen.) The blues in it are so seductive. Soft, flowing, as though a blue-eggshell melted. You want to eat it and fall into it all at the same time.

I love the guards at these museums. They're always so nice, articulate, excited about the work. And they're generally very charming. I love being in a place where people touch. Touch me. I connect with people so much better when I can touch them. Anglos aren't the touchiest of people, generally speaking. (In the truest sense of that word.)

Barbara and I went to the Santa Fe Fiesta. I love being a minority. I love hearing the sound of other languages besides my own. There is something very relaxing about it. I know I'm not being very descriptive. Let's just say I'm in love.

I need to end this post. The buzzsaw has started up again. And I've got to get back to work. We start with breakfast at 8:00 a.m. and finish up about 10:00 p.m. I'll send pics when I can. I don't have wireless in my room, so I have to lug the computer up to the library and I'm still not totally acclimated to the altitude.

Okay. That buzzsaw is too distracting. I need to go.

When I first got here, I opened the door to the balcony and stepped outside and saw a dead sparrow. A sign? Omen? Later, I found a hummingbird feather outside my door.

I feel so fortunate that I am here and doing this. I miss my sweetheart, but he's here with me in spirit. I've been having nightmares again. Dreamed both Serena and I had terminal illnesses. Then I dreamed Mario was shot in the heart and oxygen-deprived so his brain was fried. So strange.

Later, my gators. 5 comments

5 Comments:

SHOT IN THE HEART AND OXYGEN DEPRIVED SO MY BRAIN WAS FRIED???? And then you say "later gators"??? How very accepting of you.

I kid the Kim...

By Mario, at 5:33 PM  

How lovely for you that you're in such an inspiring place. I'm jealous, but only in the best possible way. :)

By feithline, at 5:18 AM  

Hi Kim!
Loss causes weird dreams, doesn't it? Glad you are in a healing place--I think Linda was right about you living in the desert, and 'all that woman stuff...'
It's a part of your soul...

xoxoxPamandra

By Anonymous, at 9:57 PM  

Kim, Santa Fe is spectacular at any time of year, and particularly its trees. May your workshop be a truly nurturing and enriching experience, and may there be a cicada or two. BB, Cate

By kerrdelune, at 6:39 AM  

Sorry, Mar. Didn't want to dream that! But you always told me these awful dreams have nothing to do with reality. Thanks to everyone for your good wishes.

Much love!

By Kim Antieau, at 11:44 PM  

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