Late September, Apache Mesa
Ric and I discover a large spider, the size of a first thumb joint, outside the cabin window. Every day just after sunset, she weaves a capacious web. It takes 45 minutes. By the time she is finished, it is dark. She sits in the middle. Within a half hour dinner is snagged—the past two evenings it has been an ethereal white moth with silver eyes. By morning, she has packed up her web. No sign at all. I wonder what time of night she does this but have never been awake to see it. She has been in residence for a week. Read more
I wrote this in late September at Ravenrock:
I walk onto the deck in twilight that feels as if it is hurried along, as if the wind dashes over the crest snapping a whip, urging the light, which gathers birds and butterflies in its graying arms, away from this summer haunt to other regions south of the equator. Yes, it is no longer summer. Read more
Where are We So Far?
Over the summer of 2012, with the help of the Dancemeditation Community’s generous contributions of $17,000 gifted during last winter’s exciting fundraiser, building on the Dance Barn interior progresses steadily. Read more
Waking to the Snake
Yesterday, I stumbled out of the cabin at dawn to empty my pee can and startled a rattlesnake. It was curled at the edge of my doorway. I froze, it wound. I quickly backed my naked self inside the cabin but had to make sure that, yes, it was a rattler with the large jaws, the dusty diamonds and, of course, the rattle which it shook at me. The sound is wilder and edgier than I had imagined it would be. We were now both alarmed. Read more
Yes, its a saga.
I began with ideas and a gorgeous, ideal architectural drawing from Dana Bixby. I sent these to five contractors in New Mexico. Two were swamped, one backed away due to conflict of interest, one is still working on an estimate two months later, and one gave me a detailed, transparent estimate which, though fair, was so far out of range that I was very, very demoralized Read more
I sat on the deck with my neighbor Tom Walker last night. He had come over to help refine the downspout to my cistern. Tom, a young 70, is lively and strong. He likes to chat. Though we spent half an hour mulling the downspout, conversation reliably and continuously digressed. (The major aspect of doing projects with neighbors is to hang out.) At last we sat on the deck. The sun was declining, tossing a glorious rosy light across the canyon. Tom, scruffy from a day’s work, ignored the view and relating to me in detail about constructing his septic line—hitting soft dirt, then rock, then soft dirt, then rock. Read more