the thing about threads

Good morning Olga.

threads
treds
trades
treed
tresses.
beauty.

i'm going to look at the tresses/treds/threads/trades as needing space here.   just as i did with herbert. he taught me how.

this bit launched me:

" For a long time then I seemed to live by a slender thread of faith, spun out from within me.  From this single thread I spun strands that joined me to the good things of the world.  And then I spun more threads that joined all the strands together, making a life.  When it was complete, or nearly so, it was shapely and beautiful in the light of day.  It endured through the nights, but sometimes it only barely did.  It would be tattered and set awry by things that fell or blew or fled or flew.  Many of the strands would be broken.  Those I would have to spin and weave again in the morning."

from Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry.

Herbert's Bird Psalm said the same.
rebuild. keep at it.
beware the "things that fell or blew or fled or flew"

i understand that it's simplistic, but finding a shape and filling in the betweens is what keeps me going each day.

in the first weeks

Olga,

This will be hard at first because I've carried on so many conversations with you for years.  I feel as if I will need somehow to write what I know about you and also the many questions I've formed. Years ago I latched on to you as imagined inspiration and as good company.   Being so little like my parents, I've concluded that  the genes must have skipped a generation.   In my version of history, you were the wild thing.
Tethered by G.A. or complemented by?  

I wonder how the round you fit with the square men.



To cut to the chase, the difficult truth was that you didn't fit.    The strands came unraveled and the night won at 57.

greys

it's easy for me to love greys.  all the winter shades of grey and grey blue.  the lacy black outlines and mess of the woods against the blue grey sky.  subtle color, sunshine makes it too harsh.   i may just like it more than the riot of greens.

oh, and then the moonshadows.   they knock my socks off.   winter through a second floor window.

definitely part of the threads that i build.   it's rather an ah-ah moment to realize how much that plays into my winter eyes and how natural it comes for me.

it's like tuning into birds or wind or glistening but it's bigger and pretty all pervasive.   until last night i hadn't named it.

love greys.   literally.
k

Olga,
Almost not sure I can let a day go by without being out in it anymore.  I bet you felt the same.

a balmy 28 degrees today.

Checked in with the Trumpeter Swans over on my rowing river this afternoon.  Their presence is a balm. ee.   Swans, geese, ducks.  like royalty and commoners.    wonder if there is a hierarchy? a bit Hans Chrisian Andersen like.  There are crowns don't cha know.

spend your days with that ease and beauty naturally infused.
it's there of course.

Olga, I wonder what you would think about my sending a postcard to Obama every week.   Guess it's been 6 years now, over 300 cards.   Might be crazy but then you might not be the best judge of crazy.
k

oh my gosh Olga, what happened to your books?  They surely clothed you, covered you, shaped you.  Granpa must have had to get rid of them.
Right away?
With your clothes?

Did he love you or hate you for your differences........

Olga we've com so far passt your dear sweet compass.  It's a great loss i fear.   How ever can we find north
or calm
east
or wonder.

herburst.....you didn't say if the hat fit?

the hat fit my heart.  i thought you nneew.

kaaaren,

on a serious note.
you can write a book.
create an imaginary friend who embodies y)our dear little people in your heart
and write tiny notes to them
that are rediculoous and playful and profound and ambiguous
and in 120 pages
you will have a sometimes best seller.
think about it.
no!
do it
then think about it.
herbert

june 1, 2006

i've decided to start writing olga.  here goes.
k