Oct 4. May S had walked the beach with "fascination of the waves, curling in foam around the rocks, advancing and retreating in an endless dance." Gladys T remembered the home dressmaker who had already disappeared into the past. "The town dressmaker was a grand institution." Linda Hogan tied it together for me. "Even new, a day itself is ancient, old with earth's habit of turning over and over again."
On our way to Grand Rapids to pay bills Wallis saw a small dead deer on the shoulder. It brought to mind a story Esther Naganaub told me about the death of a young bear. A cub had been hit by a car near her home at Sawyer. The mother stayed with her dead child for three days and nights. Esther said the mother cried for her little one with audible grief. The mother continued to wash and groom the cub. She rolled it over and patted it gently. She slept beside it oblivious to passing traffic. Then one morning the mother was gone. It had been a three day wake.
Oct 5. Ruth Rosten wrote of writing, "Even a whisper... in the right creator's ear can flower into fables, cities, souls and seasons new on earth." I find this an exciting notion. Rosten also left these words, "I write to tell you how it is with me in the cold dark places of my mind." And also this, "I imitate, go house to house with an empty cup, borrow voices from a dozen poets."
Cedar and I put a recycled beverage bottle bird feeder on the window last night. Today we are waiting for birds to find it.
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