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Begin w/ Mistake
Leaking ink bottle, 6' of white silk organza, sad little dribble and dot, one way to begin–with a mistake. The rest curiously natural. Like Saturday morning. A squirrel raiding the new bird feeder. Rush out, stomping, making a general frightening racket, the squirrel flees, but not far. Reaching out to take down the feeder, see a tail hanging over the edge of the porch roof. First thought, "I could touch it; I could touch a squirrel's tail." Reach up. First contact like touching a cloud, a wonder of softness. Second thought not really even words. A little pinch, feel the tail bony under the fluff, a little tug, let go before even thinking to, tail vanishes. Did I really touch it?
Squirrels here have grey coats with beautiful burnt sienna trim, quite fetching, especially when the sun turns it coppery. Like the tea-stained tails of this piece.
Leaking ink bottle, 6' of white silk organza, sad little dribble and dot, one way to begin–with a mistake. The rest curiously natural. Like Saturday morning. A squirrel raiding the new bird feeder. Rush out, stomping, making a general frightening racket, the squirrel flees, but not far. Reaching out to take down the feeder, see a tail hanging over the edge of the porch roof. First thought, "I could touch it; I could touch a squirrel's tail." Reach up. First contact like touching a cloud, a wonder of softness. Second thought not really even words. A little pinch, feel the tail bony under the fluff, a little tug, let go before even thinking to, tail vanishes. Did I really touch it?
Squirrels here have grey coats with beautiful burnt sienna trim, quite fetching, especially when the sun turns it coppery. Like the tea-stained tails of this piece.
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