where her fingers leave
a trailing wake and sunlight
sings on ripples; where
crawfish scuttle and reeds
reach up, green arcs between
the rocks. Her turtle toes
drive deep in mud, they send
the minnows flitting; gulls
circle wide above her head,
and seaweeds cling to ankles.
Today I announce the winner of the sea beads giveaway! But first, I've been wanting to share a poem by a very talented friend of mine from deviantArt for a while now. Her work is meditative and illuminating for sure and, as a reviewer put it, "award winning poet Jade Pandora will transport the reader to worlds far and near---fantastic and familiar---but always grounded in her humanity." See for yourself:
Yours was an empty chair, a track of earth
scuffed into the rug. Along window-
sills were seashells you had brought back,
and stones silk-smooth from gushing water.
In winter, your shadow darkened the snow
where you huddled to watch deer creep
down to ice floes; you wanted to see
their tongues touch water, were still
enough for cardinals to fleck trees
around you. You possessed such quietude.
This is going to be a pretty image-heavy post, just to warn you. I got the idea from like a bird's blog and thought it was wonderful and wanted to do something similar.
January
The first time I used the camera that would be mine.
February
I turned 26 and worked on my novel, received the third of my set of owls.
Alexander held the envelope in both hands and looked hesitantly up at Mr. Whitby. "I have something I must bring to your attention, sir." There was a tremor in his voice. His heart threw itself against the walls of his chest in an allegretto beat. He took a deep breath. "If you have a moment." Whitby paused in his writing but kept his head lowered. "Certainly. What is it?" "I possess a letter…" He tried to think of the most appropriate words. "A rather distressing correspondence from a pupil, one that I must make known to you. It is…Well." Now he stepped across the rug and laid the envelope down with care at the edge of Mr. Whitby's writing table. "I… I require your advice and guidance, sir." He bit his lip. Whitby raised his eyes and let them settle on the folded paper. He didn't move to take it. There was such an expression of dread in his face, Alexander caught his breath. "I will have a look," he said flatly. "And I shall notify you when I've had time to contemplate it." He turned his face down again. The quill scratched across his page.
----- ----- -----
March
I made my first pair of earrings:
And really started focusing on my etsy shop for the first time.
April
April is National Poetry Month. I only managed one piece this year. :(
The Phoenix Must Burn
A shadow rain, those feathers---
pestilence in the form of
fireweed; thunder
across the ground.
We huddled,
and in those moments
we forgot who we were.
I made and sold my first pair of chainmaille earrings with the first briolettes I ever used.
May
I made my first major three-strand, asymmetrical, pearl necklace using techniques I had been teaching myself. It feels like a milestone in my jewelry-making experience.
I also wrote what some (who I highly esteem) consider to be one of my finest poems so far:
Sleepless
His eyes are spoons,
empty and bright. He has
taken to counting the clock-
ticks in absence; pages
flutter in his lap, but
he does not read.
If I should listen
hard enough, some
old dead will find the
voice to speak into
these hours, he thinks.
Nights pass like this.
There is only quiet;
that endless tick ticking,
those pages as they ruffle
beneath his patient fingers,
the creak of furniture
like scolding old friends
around him.
June
Tried my hand at designing costumes; it was a lot of fun!
Wrote my first rhyming poem since the Christmas before, based on the story of Mary Wollstonecraft.
Mary
A bright doubloon of moon
fell upon the golden wheat
when a lady, in her gown,
went down into the lea.
All the night she walked among
the stalks of dewy wheat,
white hems trailing far behind,
footsteps soft upon the peat.
She wandered 'til her frilly robes
were laden with the sweet
nectar and the dewdrops twilight
placed upon the wheat.
The pathway to the river
was celibate and clear;
she could see the starlight shimmer
as water-lilies there.
July
Ah, July. This was the busiest month of all; it was flash fiction month, my fiance's birthday month, the 4th of July, we went to several concerts, and won some pretty hefty online honors for myself.
We saw this, my fiance's favorite band, in concert:
I won the annual six-word story contest on deviantArt with this story and illustration:
"She conquers everything with a book."
I was able to get through half the month with my flash fictions.
Love's Moment
He chose the moment that he loved her most to relive. It was crystal-clear in his memory: a Sunday morning shortly after their youngest son had gone off to college. They were sitting at the table across from each other. He was reading the paper; its pages ruffled in his hands. The house was otherwise quiet. Leaves, the first of autumn and still yellow-green, were falling past the windows. Then a sudden beam of sun poured in, turning everything a golden hue. That's when he looked up. She'd been slathering jam onto a slice of toast. Now she brought the knife to her mouth, closed both lips around the blade. She raised her eyes. He was watching her with such a reticent smile, with tears sitting in his eyes. It startled her. "What?" she said. "Nothing."
----- ----- -----
On July 15th, I signed into my deviantArt account to discover hundreds of messages for me. I had been awarded my second Daily Deviation feature on deviantArt. It was for a nonfiction piece I'd written about creating believable characters: "A Note on Writing Characters".
August
I took a hiatus from deviantArt to get myself situated and to focus on my writing and jewelry making. There was something else I wanted to do, too: launch my Jamberrysong's Creations blog.
I've since met wonderful people, whose works and thoughts I now follow. You brighten my day, and it's amazing to connect with you! I hope you all know that. :)
Photography was something else I wanted to practice. We took lots of walks and lots of pictures.
Ah, National Novel Writing Month. I used it as an excuse to keep working on the novel I have been slogging through for many years now. Cheating, I know, but I made a lot of valuable progress on it.
This month marked my first real craft show! I did very well at it, and met several amazing people. It was also a tragic month for me; my beloved HP digital camera finally bit the dust. :(
One of my flash fiction pieces was published in a project on livejournal called Fiction Mingle:
Some claimed they had seen her in the bayou, an Ophelia of the swamps. Floating on her back, her dark hair radiating in tendrils around her, white dress translucent in the water. The glimpse of form beneath her gown was enough to drive men mad; many had jumped overboard to go after her. They met ragged alligator jaws or the sharp poison of moccasins before reaching her arms.
Others did not see her, but they describe a sweet, lone voice in the darkness. And there are some who swear it was her hands that first made water lilies grow there.
----- ----- -----
My artist's block finally broke and I made some illustrations to go with my novel.
December
Here we are. This month, I embarked on a really ambitious endeavor that will carry into next year:
It is my goal to finish a piece for every one of these prompts by the end of next year. I got my new camera, which will continue to slow down your computer with beautiful images. XD
----- ----- -----
I am so happy to be able to have shared this year with you. Already, I'm so thankful for having started this blog. It has offered a creative outlet, a way to network, and invaluable inspiration. Here's to another wonderful year, and many more after that! <3
This is a beader's blog, and so far I've been skimping in that department. Sorry! XD Here's some dusty rose pieces from my soon-to-be-launched Victorian Tea collection. :)
I'm feeling the history today. We're going out on an Erie Canal boat through some historical locks and along the western NY landscape. Should be beautiful and inspiring; I'll be bringing my camera with me for sure!
It's a contemplative rain that falls on Monk's Mount,
that courses down in frenzied streamlets eager
for lower ground, making scenic dribble
of the rock faces, scattering withered flowers
and rabbit droppings together, touching
each leaf with lingering favor.
On these afternoons Reverend Michael takes his setter
and halfway down Blaker Road, lets him loose.
They walk together along the old rectory wall
before the dog's patience twitters away;
then he darts ahead, his tail a rod.
He pauses at the broken gate to look back. Come on, he's saying, nozzle in the air. Come on!
There's the stream to see yet, and the owls that live
in the great oak tree, and that family of gophers
what burrow under Mrs. Surrey's garden.
Do you tarry? Do you tarry?
