I’d love it if you’d join me for a glass of wine at the opening of my show at the Sojourner this First Thursday.
I will be hanging my most recent paintings and will also have copies of the Wild Seeds book if anyone would like to buy one. Kids are welcome…
We will be hanging out from
Thursday October 3rd
134 E. Canon Perdido St.
Home on the Range
Oh, give me a home
where the windows won’t close,
and there’s wall-to-wall carpet of weeds no one mows,
where the lighting is solar, when the ceiling’s not stars,
and you can get there by foot, but there’s no path for cars.
And let me rest in a bed,
of dry leaves and duff,
and think of how nothing can be more than enough.
Let my only plumbing be rocks and a spring,
and the only evening news be what the birds sing.
Let me leave boards for fences
inside of the trees.
Let wild space be my blinds when I want privacy.
I’ll dig in the humus and see what roots linger,
when I want the whole World Wide Web at my fingers.
Sure I can’t own a place,
that already owns me,
but I’ll still mind the mortgage compassionately.
So before I die, I can write in my will,
“Kids, you were born with nothing-- you have most of it still...”
How about a game of hopscotch across these stream cobbles
with a clover chain for a lanyard-
-wet feet settling any dispute
over who stepped out of the lines?
Or maybe we should play follow-the-leader
on our bellies,
trailing the ants on their various adventures.
Or, if nobody’s around, why not play a game of hide-and-seek
all by yourself
in a wild place
that tickles your curiosity but also triggers
the electric chill of the alarm hairs
on the back of your neck
and see what comes seeking?
Let’s play pick-up sticks with lumpy sticks or tiddlywinks
with living winks.
Let’s collect wet marbles,
rounded by the ten-thousand-year-old
riverbed rock tumbler,
and play an old-fashioned game of ringer.
Let’s play steal-the-gold on a five acre wooded court
in the snow...
The gold: a crown of fallen aspen leaves
hidden towards the top of the tallest tree.
Let’s play full-contact, cross-country, miniature golf,
or if you are feeling mellow,
a game of checkers:
acorn caps vs. walnut shells
worn like little hats on frogs and lizards...
pieces that move on their own.
Or, let’s not.
Rather, let’s think of games we could play
as we rest in this boulder,
sunning ourselves like blue-bellied skinks.