Springs and Frame

Camp. December 31, 2009.

Eerie. A children's camp in the dead of winter. Fog and rain, dead leaves on the ground. Hands that get cold if they're out of pockets too long.

I like seeing camp this way. It makes the place feel more my own; it deepens my connection. But camp's true nature is one of green grass, iridescent with dew; cool clean water pouring over rocks and bodies; skin, pulled taut with energy and youth.

If spring is nature's rebirth and winter her old age, camp sees nature in her twenties and thirties, blooming into herself, vivid and strong and gorgeous, a force of passionate beauty.

Oak

The Farm. 2009.

Shady Backdrop

L.A. 2008.

Life and Light and Green and Metal

Warner Center, L.A. 2008.

In the Night

West of Kings Canyon. 2008.

A Graduation. So Proud.

Ithaca, NY. 2009.

Walking into the landscape architecture school, for Dana's graduation last May. I like the just-rained-on-us sky visible under the building, and the tree standing solitary on the left, in front of the square windows. I like the quiet air of pride and I-never-doubted-it celebration we held around us as our large group waltzed into the small space and ate all the appetizers. Like we owned the place.

Cemeteries Make Me Happy

Middle of California, AIDS Ride. 2008.

And suddenly I'm okay. Maybe it was the stiff drink when I got home, followed by bad tv. Maybe it was the too-good-to-me friend who brought Clueless and Chinese over. Maybe it's that I'm finally rocking it again at work. I'm not sure.

It's still raining; it's still cold out; it's still too dark to go for a long run after work. But soon it will be spring, and light, and just a vast sun-lit playground of places to go and things to do. And I can't wait.

Back When the Weather Was Nice

66th Street, somewhere between Berkeley and Oakland. 2009.

Table Top

Camp. 2009.

Color, angular and hard, hovering over decomposing nature. A crumbling table top splintering back into its original shards. A half finished project, disassembling itself in the rain.

Knitting in the Dark

Camp. 2010.

Red and Gray

Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park, UT. 2009.

Red Canyon, UT. 2009.

I have something to say but don't know what to write.

Words are half pictures, pieces that won't fit together

to form the landscape inside.

A lonely, softly rocking sea? Blues and grays toward the long horizon.

A dusty trail, a single set of prints? Scratched legs and no one to kiss them better.

There is a muted screen inside my chest

but no one is watching.

Flickering images, an undecided self.

Where does worth come from?

Who will allow me to feel deserving?

I am scared, and it hurts even to know it.

I knew love, once. I wrote it letters full of my most secret dreams,

and sent them off with doubt and hope.

That was some while ago.

Tonight I took out a postcard and looked at it a long time.

I have something to say but I don't know what to write.

Focused

Camp. 2009.

What Is There Left to Harvest?

Camp. 2010.

Grasses, green from brown.
Mushrooms in the forest.
Gooey orange sprouting between pine needles,
shy brown and cream from the rotting log.

Clouds are clearing from the afternoon rain;
Trees are letting go their extra moisture.
Young saplings stretch and toss and bow
in the gusty coming of dark.

This road used to have wagons on it.
Men and women sweat, here, to make something:
old houses, sashes loose, floors releasing down.
Irrelevant fences stand forgotten in the new woods.

Green bark faces north.
Stars shift and roll, unhinged.
Bloated streams scrape the soaked ground up
and carry it forth to the sea.

Bright Light

Ithaca, NY. 2009.

Solo

Oakland. 2009.

Inman Square, You Fill Me With Hope

Inman Square, Somerville, MA. 2005.

In the summer, when anything's possible.

In the summer, when anything's possible.

In the summer, when anything's possible. 

In the summer,

when anything's possible.

(this one's for alex)

Yellow Flower

Oakland, CA. 2009.

Naked

The Farm. 2009.

weightless          thoughtless
stillness          touchless
blue  green  clear  silt

wrinkled oak trees above the surface
chlorine sting in the corners of the eyes
my toes, bent with the light

water sneaking past the air in my ear
a gentle stroke on the ankle by an unseen beast
air, waiting, just above

i go down for the quiet
i stay for the water pouring all over my skin, up and down
for the stone colors that never stay when they dry
naked, no matter what i wear
naked, in the water, before myself
naked to my own eyes

In That Soft Morning Glow

Bryce Canyon. 2009.

A poem, which may not be a poem at all:


pale blue blanket
softest yarn
saddest thoughts
hiding under my hair, in my skull

have i thought the ache into my heart?
where would i feel it, otherwise?
the light slowly warms as i sit writing:
metal desk,  metal box playing music, no musicians.

is it being inside, alone, that opens this
drawer of forgotten sadness?
the cool dark night, the bleeding, isolated porch lights,
outside and all around.

i don't remember where this blanket came from.
is it handed down, an heirloom of quiet, vague grief,
or did i make it myself, stitch by careful stitch.
it's finished now. but i can't seem to let go.
perhaps there's a drawer i can put it in.

Shoes

Shoe Tree, western Nevada. 2009.

Nevada Dawn

Middle of Nevada, Route 50. 2009.


A poem, for Sara. Great idea.



When I wake up
with my arms behind my head,
as I am wont to do
of late,
I wonder what relaxing dream has just
dissolved in my mind.
Was I on a beach, hot with sunlight?
Was I in a field, pondering possibilities?
Or was I dreaming of lying in bed, just as I am now,
hazy with sleep, so warm that I feel young and innocent again?

I never know which it is.
My eyes don't tell me;
my brain turns away when I might have read it on her face;
and my heart only ever gives me a warm, indulgent smile.
Only my soul whispers bits to me, when all the others won't notice,
but I am asleep by then.

Planted

Raymond Street, Oakland, CA. 2009.

This is about four houses down from me.

I love the refreshing clash of the burnt red and turquoise and cream with a touch of yellow, the sharp dark plant against the pastel wall. i love how the trees in the window are keeping the little bush company. i like the two steps, to the left.

Palms

Palms, L.A. 2006.

Some sky, for Lillie.

Resevoir

Trinity Lake, CA. 2006.

At the end of camp, the director takes all of the counselors out for a day of water fun. This year we went tubing on Trinity Lake, and had a party boat as well.

I took this towards the end of the day, as the awareness of the blunt end of summer crept into peoples' minds. Replays of fond memories and the rushed, happy making of plans continued as the sun eased back into afternoon. The silences between each cluster of conversation slowly stretched with the shadows. Eyes drifted outwards, away from the shared space on the boat, warm with familiarity, and cast themselves out over the calm green waters, and the quiet stillnesses hovering there.