Alternating between overcast and its full potential, rain comes fast from the southeast. Still, it is warm enough to go without the wood stove and to keep the buzzards aloft on said wind. They circle their last, en masse, and file off in twos over my head. I feel fortunate to have witnessed the procession, out walking the dog, feeding charcoal to the smoker and saying goodbye to my wife as she leaves on errands.
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Good news. The ritual piece I started some years back is to be seen in its entirety next spring. The word 'entirety' is misleading, as I had intended it be finished some months ago; yet, Nature had other plans and cajoled me to nurture the emergence of new green, which, in turn, gave fruit and, likewise, seed. I now foresee no end to this process, although the task may be given/transferred to others. ...shown in its potential...
Still, I am cautious. Sadly, these days six months is a long time in the art world, so I shall concentrate on what will be sent to that same venue this month. Said the dealer: "Crazy beautiful. I see sales, so send three prints, signed and numbered out of five." You've seen it, the carcass on a fence. Therein lies a rub in that we have lost three of the same mammal this year. Feral or not, there is trepidation for when I break the news over dinner.
Smoked trout, asparagus in butter and garlic, and the last of our heirloom tomatoes for the season. The asparagus? Of course from California somewhere, somehow. I cooked. We ate. I both broached and answered ambiguously until how many prints would be needed. As the song says, accentuate the positive. Sins of omission a prophylactic salve.
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Have you noticed? No, not so much here, but elsewhere. I am thinking of performance. Readings. Dare I write it? A book. Tonight, the tree frogs' sweet chirps said, "Find thee an editor."
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