By Reshmi Haque Winter nights so long and cold. The wind howls outside, so bold. The sky is dark, the stars are bright. Whereas the moon casts a silver light. The snow is falling, softly, slowly. A blanket for the earth below. The world is quiet, hushed and still. A peacefulness that can’t be filled….
by Kate Brunner Once, She and I stood together, on a slate bank, humming with bee-laden heather. Once, She turned Her sharp skull towards me and smiled wistfully through bleached sockets. Once, I smiled back, my own sharp eyes filled with glistening dew drops of confidence. Once, I was ready, I was sure. Buzzing, dizzy…
By Jennifer Miller If you would be a fiber artist, you must learn the art of unmaking as well as making, undoing and doing, unweaving as well as weaving. You will pull out stitches, and sometimes entire rows, but remember there is power in this, too— Power in knowing you can go back to…
by Jenne Micale How do we carry our burdens? You cast your eyes down at the horseblock marking the sparkle of gravel and then up, defiant, a mare tousling her mane as she runs free. You accept, take it upon your back as broad as a pony, the breath labored until you find the balance…
By Carole Weave-Lane Upon a moonbeam the Goddess Rhiannon Stood upon the wings of birdsong Enchanting the rocks in the mountain to part Liberating the wild herd Silver flanks and manes flyin’ Hooves that pounded with ghostly precision Silver on the wind Wild their eyes, tails broomstick stiff Frothing at the mouth, Galloping down…
As I rose for the first time in an eternity and Ambled out my door and felt the warmth hit my near translucent skin and begin to heat it The smothering heat engulfed me and I struggled to breathe, short of breath from lack of activity I worked my way trudging toward the side of…
Fear on the edge of creativity Love on the edge of danger A plaiting of ideas, fears, loves It is the same here Tell me what is your story? What is it you need to express? What is it you want to share with the world? I see you humans, you can not disguise it…
By Charlotte Hussey I ride on the back of a salmon, listening to the swish of the overhanging branches. They rush by rustling overhead, to the slap of his tail against water. He slides, rippling between boulders and plunges us upriver. Choppy waves lap the limestone banks, their echoes filled with the susurrations of…
By Charlotte Hussey At dawn I drop armfuls of leafy plants, buds on slender stalks, frail, scented blossoms, hundreds upon hundreds— into a vat of river water. I stir from edge to center, chaos to order, watch sunlight reflect off the pin-wheeling liquids, ridged with tiny waves, like crimped, opening petals. Slowly the…
By Charlotte Hussey It stands primly at the pond’s edge, fashioned from the salvaged boards of a damaged canoe. Its back rises up so high that any pair of sagging shoulders, any spine, if leaned against it, might straighten like those of some proud queen; stripped of all adornment, its seat waits empty, bluish with shadow….