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And so i awaken in the night at the haunting of 4 Am…it glides an hour back and forth, but seldom ever fails to lift me from my drowning dreaming, leaving me gasping in the cozy mounded covers of my sleep lair,,,,still tangled in the skiens of held images of my fervent dreams…i ask my angels for clarity and guidance as i drift the the velvet night of movies on my eyelids..Dropped abruptly on the shoreline of impending tasks…**{there is nothing more exhausting than the eternal hanging on of unfinished tasks}**   The tally of tasks begins to tickertape across my minds eye… fix the lower corral, so the new horse can stretch her daintly little legs, and she can begin to have some fresh greens and grass in her healing diet…begins then the stages of achieving the completion of action… gather the tools, scissors, cutters , fence post pounder, , extra wire, some water for the eternal thirst,4 8″ fence posts…, then transport them the through the tunnel of trees to the open pasture, the fences bedraggled from the relentless rubbing and barrage of challenging those borders…”if you have no problems, get a goat” smiles in the back of my brain…i miss them , tho…once there, it is an ease of action, a sequental series of actions, in the tender sun and the slight chill ocean scented breeze, the eucalyptus waves like a long lost friend across the golding open meadow, the more restrained coastal oak!{ How large it has grown, where have i been to miss that???}shimmers her sharp leaves so that the provocative creamy underbelly flirts- i smile back with a pleasured shimmy, myself…this is delightful, and so easy, so pleasurable! the couple of hours have glided by, the pasture is secured and tidied of its branches, the goats favorite snacks…the enclosure is safe and done, ready for miss Lena… Lula will still have her big pasture, but now she will not run fenceline,bucking , rodeo queen wild bronc, shrilling across the cupped valley to the horses we cannot see- they call back, without her urgency- they have their own companions, after all.These 2 hours of work which needs to be done only once, is completed, in so much less time than it had taken to dread or to plan it.I carry my tools up the hill, always a further distance, and i stand , calm and proud and still in the last of the shafting sun…this day is beginning to leave, gathering the last of the colors and warmth. I am filled with my own light as i gaze on my accomplishment.. the little red horse and the wall of hershey brown, vie for snugs and apples, .I will give them their hay, and as they take a gleeful devourance of the succulence. i will roll a new length of waterhose down there, fill their buckets up and Viola ! that which has imprisoned me with a seemingly inachievable series of steps, was done with ease and great joy, and the lives of these 3 people who will benefit for all days to come. I will not spend all of those extra hours placating or avoiding them in my shame…all done !  When those who wake me at 3 am  will come to me, i will be able to smile and say, one less thing…and what is to come next?

   Oh, i think, and so how easy is it to then, to begin to finish my studio, my glass bench, to rearrange to have the 2 separate benches, for soft glass and for hard, for teaching or creative playtime..i , until yesterday , had not even hooked up my torches, or returned from their travelling boxes, the tools and glass that i take to shows. ANd so, i take the little steps, first , hook up the torches, oh they are beautiful  to me…. clamp down the torch..always the thrill of being ready to romp ! the tools find their places, the lights arranged, extra glass put away as i strive for a less chaotic bench, sacred ground for creation>” Lets get it done,” i find myself   crooning,,, marvin gaye forgiveing me “lets get it dooonnn, mmm baby”. Things have gotten done,, indeed, and that frees me up to enjoy the pleasures of unimpeded torching, to the knowing of the freed pleasures my horses can have everyday.  I will awaken , and perhaps allow myself to be drawn back into the mesmerising streaning of this lifes dreamings…dawn will find me rested, welcoming the next thing….welcoming this life blessed unto me…

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Happy I Amthere is such a moment in time , having intuited a choice of glass rod,a color who sings from amongst  the teeming crowd  of options -who wants to come forth ! A quiet breath as the flame  hums and the glass enters and bespeaks its new hue and eases itself into a form i might follow, invisible here behind the torch, and the sea appears, liquid light curving and rippling, the curve completes itself and there is suddenly room there on the lip for the tiny dolphins who showed up in my torch last night.. i tweeze them into the outer flame, warming them , moving them closer as the finned sliver heats, then is placed onto the belly of the wave, glowing, now in union, and meld effortlessly into it, at home now.. a slender rod of silvered green  is lifted to the wave and stippled gently tracing the cresting wave, the breaking surf and my work here is done… this little creation is all of its own now, and i release it from its tethering punty, and it slides into the radiant inferno of the kiln, where it will bask and align its new mollecular form, this pendant which can now live forever in this new item.It will whisper its name, teasingly, and i will listen and share it with those who will call this little one their own…i move along the unending sea. listening ,there is suddenly thunder along the ocean … i am called to the shore now, to breathe the incoming storm, letting the chilling wind erase my past… only footsteps, and now those gone….i become the vessel for the next to come. thunder again, lightening in my eyes and a wide grassy prairie in my heart. Unnamed.

and now the words…

Awoke to the tracings of words from the fleeting dreams, and the fine sound of Autumn first thrumming rain on the roof.The rain came to bless my usual waking in the predawn hours, I lift from the movies on my eyelids to the veiled darkness…oh, the moon is gone and the sun still just considering this days jaunt across this sky, .Pinpoints of red lights like vampire fireflies…the vcr, the microwave and the tv-the answering machine and the battery charger. Going to the kitchen window,in the valley below the nearby town is as flat and asparkle as an inland lake, cupped by the steeply rising golden rumpled hills, hummocks of oaks nestled in the crevices. In the still dark, i came out to my studio, lights still low so as to not too quickly awaken the birds.The computer fires up and i sit down in this calm and reflective mood, let fall like tender petals the words to describe the naming  the little beings of glass forged in my flame.Speaking to myself, speaking to you, i tapped out a lengthy lyric missive, describing the evolution of a dolphin graced boro wave pendant, and how the name calls itself out. About the difference in listening for the names of the rounded bead sets…how they must call their family of beads together into a set before their name is sung in full.New here, i noticed the word counter, and saw that some 400 words had arrived to be heard…and they rang clear and clean as a bell , even as the first petal of mornings sun entered and illuminated with golden light this small festive room. I sighed, a day well begun, hit the wrong button… and it was all gone ! Aha ! i laugh, this has happened before, a story not ready to reveal itself. No time for disgruntle, the words are still here. The day goes on, to the chattering of the birds and the hopeful intonations of the parrots. I will come back later to my Aerie, and hope that they will come back to whisper in my ear…everyone wants their name to be heard, and also their song. I will be back . I shant be long.The torch is now calling to hear its own song. ~ Aha~

And i am swept up in its ebullient swing and sashay, red hair aflyaway as i pirouette and shimmy in the silvered blue maelstrom, giddy with the freedom from a year of  darkness and yearning, of betrayal , renewal and redemption, and the song is still singing itself as each hour of my life comes to me, as it leaves, i must be aware of the vivid photo i have implanted into its akashic record, my every breath, our every breath is the next inhale of the others on this shared planet, remember, i sing, remember , i pray, remember,i call out in silent anguish on the stillest of the darkling nights, remember to bless the past, it is the food that will nourish this arriving future, this present moment.call to me that which i want, my laughter in the wind  is swept up in the curlique breeze as my splendid mare cavorts in her wide pasture with its Monet hillside and the sea beyond that. That sea  is shimmering and coursing the shoreline as it delivers with abundant grace the small treasures i will seek to be found by when i next go there to refill my souls and empty the jagged rattling shards of last years wounds, done away , gone away, with each piece of miraculous rainbowed shell and plaintive carapice of crab and shrimp, already having done its contribution to the food chain.Pieces of sky and forest appear in the tumbled beach glasses amongst the beach grasses, and everywhere are the tumbled bits of branches washed from the mountains and washed smooth by the swishing sands, now pure and tiny cavorting dancers, inviting me to gather them, to recognise that dancing spirit in the tree. still, and create a finery of bead and cloth and feather and shell and let them be given to a friend in heartful need, or for just a laugh, silly little treasures, and i had the sun that day and the frenzied wind and the sand and salt and i sing, to this new world, after this so difficult time , Alive, Alive Oh….