G A L V A N I Z E D When I awakened, the silence was deafening; it was so quiet, I couldn't make out a single sound. No electrical humming, no other breath, no sense of stirring, no lapping wave, shorebound. There was nothing, in something -- merely the absence. Of any thing. Except the beating of my heart, exhaling and inhaling blood. Then, the softest patter, then more -- rain, coming down on the galvanized roof. This overhangs my house, as if a kind of sound gatherer, for what weather...

Feather shuffling, for one; standing, surveilled -- hawk-eyed seer. Photos by Tim Girvin love : T | decatur island 2.10.07 / 11.22am

m a d e l e i n e & g a b r i e l l e What each of us knows is that there's always a passing to every little thing -- to every large thing, from the smallest insecta, to the grandest universe, and it's hard to face that; know - that it's each, for all. All, end one. There was a poem, long back that I spoke to -- repeated -- to your Mom. I never forgot it. And I'm sure she never did, either, to the simple character of the missive. I might have drawn it out for her, as well -- as a gift. And...

Speech, like smoke, wafts just borne -- right, whenthat calling -- culled, is true. behind that smoke, found surveil, what lies -- perhaps lying beneath; truth be told: twice tales and new coins found, there waterdown like sea anemones forgotten in salttime, turned to fossil, metalmade and discovered. Lying down, lain, lining lied once. Told the truth, all -- the others. Found. Renewed. The right eye, Scene, noted. Morning culled. Coins, like ideas hammered. t. | queen anne

Wherefrom, it came? Morning clarion, called -- needlerise. wishing well, in all emergences: t. | seattle

Gabrielle, good morning, sweet second borne daughter -- hoping that you are feeling better this day. This image came to me. And reminded me of what we've been talking about. It made me think of you in this way. ---- Little Luna | Gabrielle My little spirit still young, yet in the movements of her young body housing the old soul that searches there -- and is -- the ancient mystery of that : the potent feminine, surges in the tide of time and seeing all that passes her gaze beauty there, in the...

T H I N G S T H A T W E F O U N D I N T H E F I R E Meditations on fire. In the consideration of passing, things move on. Moments flicker. Friends pass. Miracles whorl. And new things come out -- in another understanding. In the passage of events, learnings turn, discoveries translate, and in this, visions emerge. Fire and the firing is like that -- the metaphor of things transformed, objects translate to new revealing. And in the person, the discovering of fire, what is seen -- is changed....

it is about that, remembering. you look back, to what has been, to see more of what is, and finally, what shall be. ------ Some might've spent the day focused on the recollections of MLK. Others: recalling other things. I thought about my brother, Matt. And so, in looking back at Matt, what he and I did together, it was good to do that. Look back, but not stare. Remember, in the constructive focus of the moment -- what was shared, learned, advanced. I made a cairn on the island with my parents...

Like that. "L'ecriture est la peinture de la voix. This, those that frame vision in those other things, than the norm of the common piece, easiest scene, found. But still, isn't it so that we can find, that the most wonder full in the very pavement, that we fall to, seeing cracks that take us to the very center of the old soul. That just once, we forgot about. T | G | Nyc

two dew ---- in the fertile stretches of the imagination i envision a watered gather, two fluent spheres hanging there nurtured by the rainstorms of the mind, spirit congealed, in cold mineral liquid, tinged in bark, lichen spilled from the old ones that line that shore, an even in that silence that cold stony and shell frocked edge, the water whirls and twirls turning, spinning unto itself, then the other, until finally -- in the frosted nightfall they be come one, and drop to the sea of...