On this hot afternoon

I made peach jam

Not sure if it will set –

Pot bubbling beneath my spoon

I am an old woman.

And come winter, my jam , your cure

You will know I am a healer.

Now- I jump into the river

Swimming across the current- laughing

(And as I write this peach of a poem)

With only a towel around me- still cool

I am the young woman.

““““““““““““““““““““““`

Living the old chant are we…

“I am an old woman, I am a young woman

I am a healer and my soul will never die.”

Here’s to that!

Wild in it’s reaching tendrils

Climbing on multiple strings.

Higher than the roof it floats

Reaching for the moon

Ignorant of the distance

I too want to be unrealistic

And inspired.

At the end of the day- weary from my efforts

Banks and I headed down the road where-

I ran into Hannah, an artist women friend and

We spoke of the heaviness we feel

Our global warming worries multiplying

The weight of it in our bones and that

Transmuting the grief is now a full time job

Like mushrooms who eat the oil

This is alchemy

Reaching for the elixir of the shared cup

Any two will do.

Tried of myself, my opinions and concerns

I asked John if he wanted to go to Brainard Lake?

The high country is a cure-

And walking with John is a luxury-

He doesn’t much like trails- so off we go

Trapsing through the woods

Wintergreen under foot, decaying logs,

Lichened branches to dodge

So comfortable and at home- off trail.

What have we been busy doing?

This is our oldest connection, our roots

Our best way of relating

The sensate adventure of off trail.

Carl and I were in the same class at Miami of Ohio

Several of us met up at a memorial-

Of a guy I only knew in our youth….

So fifty years ago- my summer theme.

Time traveling is weird- we are forever young

But who are these old people walking around?

Am I dreaming- I think so.

Illusions revealed- but not quite grasped.

Everyday there is something big to feel

Everyday is a ritual.

In the middle of the night-awake

My brain on overdrive

(turns out it’s really important to acknowledge one’s feelings)

In order to get a good night sleep.

But when I allowed the upset feelings to emerge….

(A fear of the future….but a little more involved then that)

I was so much more relaxed- and as

I wandered about, turning on the light in my studio

To put paint onto a canvas that Sarah had started.

She’d brought out a stack of them

(The ones that she couldn’t find the energy to complete)

And as I painted, I could feel the presence of Sarah,

In her colors, shapes and gestures

All uniquely her, in our combined painting.

“““““““““““““““““““““““““““““

The soul is present in what we make

Even if we are dissatisfied with it.

Greater then we know, a universe,

A hedgehog.

Anything you touch

is a romance move and

If I give you a piece of paper

Your mark on it will be just right

You will know where to start

Bending or straight

It’s your mark

…….. a revolutionary move

You’ve trusted your own hand

Watch out world- we have live one.

Hello dear readers

Human Design Rocks( check it out)

I love this little drawing

It’s my body graph with a skirt

My mother has the same four centers

Self, throat, third eye and crown.

I miss my mom

Especially this week.

Her last day

The vet came to put an end to the cancer

In her leg and lungs

But Chloe made the most of it

Splashing in the river she loves

Following Lucien as he pulls in the sparkling fish

She seems to know

And chose a place by the big cottonwood,

At the edge of the wild.

We effort to catch up

Deep feelings to integrate

What is raw – from all the life

That wants it’s chance to heal

Lines up to be healed

And is.

““““““““““““““““““`

Lucien and his dad and grandfather dig the grave

Forcing the living to take deep breaths of air

digging soil, silt and cobbles.

This is our life

And sitting in my rocking chair at dusk,

Her grave is part of the view

And I say something funny to John

About the mortal coil

-not for the faint of heart.

This is our life.

When I was 10, my older sister made a collaged box

Her chosen photos- revealing her values,

Photos like this Rabi cutting bread or

An artist wearing a paper mask with glasses….

A young woman teacher- smiling

Her black students hands in the air.

““““““““““““““““““““““““““““

My mother valued this collaged box

As high art even though we lived not like this.

These images expressed inclusion and diversity

And our world in Akron Ohio was very small.

My sister followed her own lead

She taught first grade in inner city Cleveland

Her children all black like in the photo.

She followed an inner leaning

She diverged – stepping out of the box.

I’m the only one who carries her memory

Sharing her with you is an honor.

Anne White, Jan 1940- April 2017