Red Shoes

It occurred to me, that all my childhood I was striving to be worthy of red, pointy-toed velvet shoes with the sparkling diamond clasp that remained on the top shelf of my mother's linen closet, destined for my sister's four year old feet, feet that refused to wear shoes. When the store master at the Dog Patch corner store determined my feet were squishy when seen in flip-flops one prairie summer, I longed for the power of those alluring shoes, still waiting for my sister's submission. I cradled my dripping orange Crush. It didn't matter that the impossibility of August heat kept those shoes in the dark, cool cupboard . Or that my feet were four years bigger than the shoes. My round toed brown leather Buster Brown's did not defend my honour in September, and the red tempting prize continued to perch where they would live forever. In my memory, I still climb up to touch velvet expectation. And orange Crush still comforts.

Hurricane Warning

My aunt lives in Florida. Earlier, forecasts predicted an east coast disaster. Now the 'cane' seems to be on a western coast finish. Yikes! The CNN weather plotting shows that Frances will hover over Tampa tomorrow. All people affected by natural disasters have my sympathy. However, when the safety of one of my own seems to be threatened, emotions rise to the peak of concern.

I am a lover of severe weather. The tremendous tree shattering thunderstorms of my youth, pelting rain pinching my hair follicles, magnificent, blinding blizzards that blanketed the entire house with shelves of snow, golf ball sized hail stones pounding the terrain to smithereens, flooding river gulping the banks away in a night , a prairie brush fire devouring all grasses in a second, any tree in a minute... All these I have witnessed. I have found these acts of nature enthralling. High winds have been especially exciting to me. I enjoyed the sting of airborne dirt nip at my cheeks, the push of the force swaying me off balance. If I was in danger, I did not feel it. Yet the power and devastation of a hurricane has remained distant to me, an event that was read about, televised and confronted vicariously. Now, a loved one can be hurt, or worse. I find my senses numbed, my inability to act on her behalf upsetting. She has been a resourceful woman. Surely she will prevail. I need to believe this.

New Horizon

Dry is the river where secrets tread
Dark is the limb where fears are led
Bristle when the words are spared

Know well the impression...

Know what?
I don't know
How I know what I know

I know without telling
I know without sound

Sometimes the eyes crease and colour the news
Sometimes the skin will reveal the deed
Sometimes the message just lingers like scent
I know the message and dread the clues.

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Crypticness has never been my strength.
I am not mysterious or secretive.
I have difficulty lying.
I appreciate private conversations, if I am privy to the information.

I like defined shadows, if I create the distinct forms that deliver the interception of light. I like to play with the visibility, the light on material... creation of sensations that arise from the juxtaposition of different light on surface and form.


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Yank the sky forward... Oh how I miss the expanse of a prairie sky... Full, unobstructed vision. I am always looking around corners to see the light.