The Other Two



A jackrabbit.



And some Indian Paintbrush.


And they both wear so musically, so beautifully, so minimally, so majestically, so bright and shining and luminous and lustrous and silken-cord-with-bright-red-coral and velvety and smudge of gold and pinpricks of light nearly shooting through sterling and jingle and jangle and resonating like violins or cellos with womanly curves….night sky under yellow moon and the quiver of wind on water and new unfurling leaves and a locket with a secret worn close to the heart and a window with a view and an old fence hammered together with a few pieces of lumber and some crooked nails and the thump of a rabbit foot and the flaming red of the paintbrush and the low, wet smell of sage in the rain and the coming solo summer and her green grass and quiet nights and the rose garden and the grass at my knees and the coyote on the ridge and those lonesome drops of dew settling at the corners of my heart and the rising sun and those mellow moods and warm rock and wildflowers and everything in between.
And everything in between.

Often times, I want to whisk you up into what these pieces mean to me, fold my wings and slip my feet down onto the solid ground and whirl you around the countryside of my heart and soul like a
tender tornado so you can see what the hills look like
from where I stand and feel. So you can fully know what was poured into these small vessels. So you’ll always know exactly what I’ve given you to carry.

Things would be heavy if you weren’t sharing in the load.
Sweet dreams,
PLUME

:::Post Script:::
I really do tremendously adore
having an imperfect little 102 year old house
that creaks and groans in the evening hours.
This weekend I think I’m going to convince RW
to paint the bedroom avec moi. Finally. I’ve
selected what I think will be a lovely hue to wake
up to: hawthorne yellow.
It’s cheery but not overbearing and best of all
I imagine it will look beautiful against
our crisp white moldings and the blue grey of the
living room. It’s funny to think I’ve lived with mustard
yellow sponge painted bedroom walls for nearly two years. I suppose the spaces we congregate in with friends and family seemed more important during the renovation process…let me know, what’s the last thing you painted and did the end result make you happy?

::The Other Post Script::
1. Long blond hair.
2. Stronger eyebrows.
3. Those lemon squares.
4. Light blue lace.
5. I need to go to sleep but I’m so impatient for tomorrow to arrive I don’t want to go to bed.

A Throat Flower: Lexical Charm

I’ve been wanting to:
Work in the third dimension, more.
Build things.
Construct them like one would a house.
I dreamt of a flower necklace, a few months ago.
One that could sit with tactile and dimensional form in
the suprasternal notch at the base of my throat.
A throat flower.
[a friend asked me, “what will you make next…”
i told him, “a large flower that settles here (i raised my hands to my throat) and then falls down in lengths of draping chain to here (i raised my hands to my core)…”]
AND THEN I DID.

INSPIRED BY:
i will wade out
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
i will take the sun in my mouth and
leap into the ripe air


It’s a necklace for a good sea witch.
One who wears snail shells for shoes.
The one who has silver hair that flashes green in the dark night waves.
It’s a necklace for a prairie child.
A girl who knows where the crocus bloom.
A girl who pins her hair up with shards of the Northern lights.
It’s a necklace for a mountain darling.
The one who runs the slopes barefoot in alpine sun.
The one who roots the conifers deeper when she takes a moment to embrace a tree
and commands the sky pilot to burst purple.
A throat flower.
To sit over the box that holds your voice;
a steady and strong lexical charm.

PS

imperial jasper & sterling silver

peruvian pink opal & sterling silver

green rutilated quartz & sterling silver

lemon chalcedony & sterling silver

And that’s a wrap.
I’m off to spend my evening hours.