The Life and Times of the Plume — Page 195

July 14, 2011 by The Noisy Plume

Last night, at 1:11AM, I sat out by the rose garden beneath the moonshine.

The wildflowers were unspooling their scent into the wind.

My mountains were rising up and capped with mobile stacks of cumulus clouds — moving like wayward ships between Arctic ice flows.

I was perched in such a tame place, but I had a sense of wildness in the surround.

I felt Kept.

I felt quiet (truly quiet, steady, calm).

I thought about mercy:

I talk a lot about love.

I believe mercy is at the core of love…or love flows from the apex of mercy…like all the mountain water flows to the sea.

________________________

The night was dark.

The moon was bright.

I felt outside of my self, looking in, gliding along parallels,

adjacent to the glow of my own soul.

Aware.

Thrumming in full dimension.

Operating gracefully with an ancient instinct.

The only answer I could find was:

Mercy.

________________________________________________

I remain.

There is no hollow version of my self here.

I remain.

Tenderly yours. Wholly.
Fullhearted.

I remain.

As fragile as I was the day before and solid in that fragility. Remade. Untethered. Cherished.

I remain.

Sustained. Now and always.

I remain.
______________________________

You know,
life is so beautiful.
Always.
Even in the moments when we give in to the darker portions of human nature, life is still gorgeous, because there’s always the shining chance that mercy will appear [wrapped in the light of grace]. There is the resplendent hope for redemption — the holy and blazing desire for atonement.
The wrongs made right
and the melodic overture of harmony.

There is the trying.
There is always the trying.
Just try your hardest.

https://www.thenoisyplume.com/blog/2011/07/14/1046/

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Mamma made a batch of biggies:

July 14, 2011 by The Noisy Plume

Small Collections Ring: beach pottery from Mendocino County, ocean jasper, river rock from the Methow River Valley & sterling.

Small Collections Ring: ocean jasper, pearl, river stone from the Methow River Valley & sterling.

Arpeggio Ring: Kentucky agate & sterling.

Arpeggio Ring: Imperial jasper & sterling.

Waif Ring: Sterling & 22 karat gold.

I’ll be listing these rings in the shop on Friday!

Fact:

I really miss enameling.

For months, it’s been too hot to run my kiln in my studio. Boy howdy. I’m going to go berserkers when October rolls around.

::TO THE WOMEN WHO CLAIMED THESE RINGS::
Thank you.
You don’t know.
You won’t EVER know,
what your support means to me.

Filed Under: New Jewelry

Summer in the West

July 12, 2011 by The Noisy Plume

After a long, hard sleep last night,

I woke up this morning to the gentle plink plonk of rain on the bedroom windows,

the sound of a plum tree scraping twig tips against the living room window

and that sense

that everything that has breath was praising the Lord.

Really, summer in the West is

hymn after hymn of praise for the Creator

and the genius of nature:

the whip of willows in the wind,

the fall of water over smooth stones,

the methodical washing of the rains,

the dry heat that grows the grasses tall,

the slow and lonely beat of my heart

(for I am nature too and when I was made, the Creator proclaimed me good).

Summer in the West is so stuffed and exploding with surprises,

the sort of surprises that can only make a soul gladder by all passing moments,

the sort of surprises that rip at the blinders we place over our hearts and minds.

My gaze is renewed.

I see the summer coming.

The summer arrives.

I take off my shoes.

I cry out:

Here I am, show me!

All my whispers turn to prayers

and these mountains I tread upon rise up as temples,

as the holiest of holies.

Out in the gardens,

the things I always trust to fail,

prove once again that my shallows are shallow.

There’s a rhythm here that is stronger than the muddling tempos of

human invention. I cannot trust in everything, but I can trust that the raspberries will always turn plump and red in the sun, my favorite rose will always smell as sweet, this unfolding space, in seventh dimension (in honest four part harmony) will always sing me back again…and again, I will return.

The promises of the seasons

(the steady and clean unfolding of nature)

reflect the greatest promises of all:

healing, redemption, growth, death, renewal,

love…

What is summer like, where you are?

Are you turning gold like the wheat in the fields?

Are you pressed, over and over, by the textures of the wildflowers (the indian paintbrush sweeping coral onto the canvas of your soul)?

I can feel my pace has slowed.

I’m under restoration.

In a space this quiet, this calm,

I’m allowing myself to be nurtured.

That said, I’m a tad stir crazy here.

I’m desperate to be up the mountain running like a tawny flanked quadruped.

Last week, I jumped in a river and bruised my heel, quite terribly, on a river stone. I’ve barely been able to walk, let alone gallop. My injury is breaking my heart. These summer days in the West are tidily numbered and dwindling fast so I’m taking to the gardens, most vigorously, building arbors with flexible portions of willow I’ve been gathering from the river, guiding vines up and over them so that there seems to be a constant, green banner of love drifting in every direction.

Summer in the West:

These high and dry times.

These burning and bright shining times.

These dust dampening morning raining times.

It’s all so good.

:::EDIT:::
THANK YOU
so much for the comments you left on this post as well as the emails and Etsy convos you’ve been sending me regarding this life snippet.
You’re the stars and the moon.
x

Filed Under: creation, gardens, just a day in my summer life

Bringing in the Roses

July 10, 2011 by The Noisy Plume

The dog days of summer aren’t so bad.

With Kristen here, I’ve felt so relaxed, so in the moment — I get better at living in the moment as the years go by. She keeps asking me if I need to answer emails, I keep telling her I should, but then I don’t, and we go spend the day at the river instead. Pardon me. Please! The thing is, my best friends all live miles and miles from here. I see them individually, once a year at best, so when I am with them, I try to be with them. I know you understand.

We’ve been bringing in the roses.

The air in the house rings sweetly with the silky and sensual froth of the queens of flowers.

I sometimes feel guilty for having a yard this mature, this lovely, this blooming…every summer.

The peach tree is growing fuzzy things. The plums threaten to snap branches. The grapevines reach so greedily for unfettered space.

________________________________________________________

The fire boys came over yesterday to help me with the lawns. Jimmy was fighting with his wife about whether or not he’ll pursue smokejumping next year — I cut him three long stem roses in coral, peach and red to take home to her in a mason jar. Today, Eric’s wife, also a hotshot in a city two hours away from here (she’s so tough and tall and beautiful), comes to Pocatello for the first time this summer. I told him to stop by for roses on his way home from work this evening.

I’ve cut roses to keep.
So selfish with the petals, I am.

I have them floating like sweet surrenders in shallow bowls on the nightstand, in the bathroom, on the window ledge by Kristen’s bed, in the parlor, in the kitchen adjacent to the wildness of the jasmine. When I cut them from their brambly stems out in the rose garden, I wonder if I should. I know they’ll bloom out quickly in the heat. Perhaps moving them into cool water in the house is a sort of tender mercy. They’re spared for a couple of days before they nod their heads and drop their fancy dresses to the floor like tall ladies in silk gowns after a long evening of dancing and pressing painted lips to slender cigarettes.

_________________________________________________

The world seems so lithe and green.

So long suffering.

So breezy, light and unflappable, at the moment.

These are lean months, fat with fruit and flowers.

Me too.

_________________________________________________________

I take Kristen to the airport tomorrow morning.

I’ll have three full days to gather myself before another best friend arrives for a visit and an adventure.

Somewhere over in the North Cascades, RW is jumping out of airplanes, a river is flowing to the sea, a trout is sunning its silver sides in the alpine air and everything is fine.
So fine.
I hope it is for you too.
If it isn’t, take off your shoes and put your bare feet in some grass or in a strand of clear mountain water.
Feel your soul expand.

A good and restful sabbath to you all,

The Plume

:::Post Scriptus:::

Because I have now received a few emails about it, I thought I would state here that the wildland firefighter from Boise who recently passed away while fighting a fire in Texas was neither a friend or family to us (though all fire fighters are brothers of sorts) — thank you for your kind notes of concern, God rest his soul. xx

Filed Under: random stuff, roses, summer

The Going Ons

July 7, 2011 by The Noisy Plume

I just can’t help but wonder about the topographies of my heart, and yours.
The quiet stacking of strata in contour lines,
ridge tops wearing the froth of the fir trees,
those easily fading low lands with unnamed horizons and pockets of stagnant water.
I wonder if the contour lines of my heart of hearts cascade like the earth
I walk, whipped up by the wind and laid down by floods in
purposeful folds and furrows:
always bending and breaking.

Purposeful.

I want to believe I feel these things for a reason.
That my heart is carved out, built up, stretched and suspended for a purpose.
I want to look at the map and know it was all for Good.

{A topography hollow form ring built of sterling and prehnite.

Reverberating with space.

Extending along parallels.]

Marrow Necklace.

This piece is all sterling and features an organic little hollow form “o” and one of my sterling bones. Once, RW said to me: Suck the marrow out of life and then have the dog’s part too.

I’ve carried those words with me over the years…now some metal carries them too.

_______________________________________________

The Going Ons:

One of my best friends breezed into town

at the perfect time:

She’s broken hearted and could use some of my magic.

I’ve been on the brink of my first summer melt-down due to a barrage of annoying life circumstances and I need some of her magic too.

Days are being spent on: French presses, dog walks, spinach salad, used book stores, Japanese restaurants, movies, evening drives up the mountains, sprinklers, popsicles, antique shops, laughter, tears and all that other stuff that meshes best friends together.

I’m so glad she’s here.

She is too.

I hope you’re all well!

x

PS Here she is. She’s so beautiful. You’ve never been in the presence of a soul so big and bright.

Filed Under: New Jewelry