old girl in the west

I must be in California because there are lemon trees and sushi. And the leaves on a bunch of ordinary basil are the size of my hand.

I love the chilly, foggy, sunny energy of San Francisco. My skin smooths out, hair curls and thickens again, I feel younger in this place.

A simple walk to the organic grocery store a couple of blocks away is a workout up and down slanted sidewalks. The neighborhood yields an array of images and I'll share some because there's so much to tell that I am "bethumped by words" (Shakespeare) (read: too busy this week to sit quietly and find them).

 And a friend watches my every move.

illuminations

Early morning walk in the early morning light. So quiet in the park today - conducive to meditation and observation.

chamisa, Mexican sunflowers, one zinnia aglow

window through window in the old adobe barn, chickens scratching outside

Then home again to face the piles of clothes I'd pulled out of the closets to winnow down to fit in one smallish carry-on bag as I prepare for trip west early Monday morning. I've been told to bring light clothes (sunny afternoons), warm (for morning fog), casual (for the Pacific) very dressy (for the opera), and oh yes, a bathing suit (hot tub). This is a challenge since my bag really is small. Cashmere sweater and bathing suit? Fleece vest and sparkly shawl? Wool socks and sandals? Where will I put my knitting projects? As I was struggling to make decisions and see what would actually fit, it occurred to me that I could have two bags to choose from based on the trip (duh), one being a bit larger. I nearly jumped into the car to drive 85 miles to Santa Fe to buy a larger bag. Fortunately, reason returned (Ron told me I was nuts). I'll figure it out. After all, I've used the bag before on longer trips. I have this thing about traveling light, but then I want to take all my favorite things so that I can wear what fits my mood - and not think about the perfect item for an occasion hanging in the closet at home a thousand miles away.

Though I have occasional twinges of guilt about 

the supposed superficiality of my subject, I can't 

deny that my interest is deep and abiding.

     Nancy Macdonell Smith, "The Classic Ten"

catching moments

On perfect weather days like this I find myself simply being. Walking around the Plaza and its environs while my friend is at an appointment that I've driven her to. An hour of solitary small pleasures. No news to share but an abundance of ever-changing images! Moments in time that seem both vivid and fragile.

Each step along the sidewalk is a dreamtime of color. The camera shutter silently clicks. Photographers do what they do to hold moments in time longer than fleeting reality allows. We have possessive personalities. Mere reality isn't good enough for us. Is it red rose hips against an adobe wall? Or Emily Dickinson's words about how the sun rose a ribbon at a time. I want to walk through the forest's confusing crochet of sun rays through leaves, hear the noisy low river and what it has to say for itself. Take pictures of aspens, green and white, against a cerulean sky. They won't stay green much longer. There isn't time.

I take what I can fit into a busy schedule as I prepare for my trip to San Francisco on Monday. Poetry and responsibilities, the sadness of my neighbor's mother's death in the wee hours this morning. The family still reeling from their son's death in July. The only consolation is that she lived to be 95 years old. I try to clear off my desk, make lists, figure out what to pack (lots of black clothes, knitting, a new toothbrush), plan to stay up late the next few nights and get it done. Meanwhile, in between commitments, movies, editing and writing, I've finished two pairs of hand warmers. The knitting is meditative and a third pair is on the needles. The moody gray color, the softness and simplicity - just what I need now. I'll keep knitting until all the yarn is gone. Both pairs (there really are two although I only show you one of each) are long, knitted from that great Rowan dk soft - one pair with a stripe, the other plain. My pal and I will need them by the Bay next week.

Barefoot on the cold deck
I snap shot after shot
as if it were the last sunrise of my lfe
racing against time as the sky turns
another unidentified shade of rose

a slow encircling

As long as the nine horses are in the nearby field, you will probably see pictures of them often. I can't resist when they approach my car as it slowly heads home on the dirt road or when I walk by. How could I not stop for this guy? Even Spike was quiet as this large soulful creature approached us, stopped and stared. As herd animals they have that natural instinct to gravitate toward other mammals and would probably like to be part of our herd or have us be part of theirs.

breath of autumn
During these late September days sans rain, buttery light has been hitting and illuminating various things unexpectedly. Ron's painting in the kitchen.

The bouquet of cosmos a friend picked for me from her garden the other day when I stopped by to help her figure out a knitting problem. She had worked it out before I got there, but we had a nice hour talking, eating grapes, and knitting.

And deep decorative shadows everywhere.

Of course I love this time of year. Who doesn't? I'm still working on the Rowan dk soft hand warmers and will show them off soon. I finished thumbs last night while watching Lust for Life. Whew! Does everyone else think that Kirk Douglas actually became Vincent Van Gogh in that film? He was amazing. It occurred to me that his obsession with capturing on canvas what he saw with his eyes is akin to taking photographs. It never quite comes out the the way it is seen. How could it? A landscape is vast and dimensional. With wind and rain, birds chirping, cicadas buzzing, light shadows. What I do know is that when we were in the D'Orsay Musee in Paris, intoxicated and weary, overstimulated by room after room of masterwork paintings, when we stepped into the Van Gogh room we were hit with the color and freshness of his paintings. Every wall in that room sang with moments of time that he did indeed capture. In one of his letters to his brother in another September long ago, he wrote:

There is a...canvas, a corner of a garden with a weeping tree, grass, round clipped cedar shrubs and an oleander bush....there is a citron sky over everything, and also the colors have the richness and intensity of autumn. And besides it is in even heavier paint...plain and thick

shimmering blues

At the end of my driveway this morning, I was confronted by nine horses lined up along the fence staring at me. Spike was in the car and barked. By the time I got the camera out they had scattered. A sight to see in the early morning sun. They weren't in that three acre field yesterday so it must be another of those magical horse happenings. And they probably won't be there for long as three acres is simply not big enough to sustain nine relentless eating machines.They're already reaching out beyond the fence. Another case of the grass being greener?

I love the proximity of horses and since the rain all last week, the grasses are thick and luscious. Hollyhocks are blooming again and cosmos are prolific, the flowers on my deck are looking more like summer then autumn. Such is the transformation that happens with an abundance of water. The clouds and rains are over for now and the sky is simply minimalistically...blue.

Nothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die
     Basho (trans. Sam Hamill)

mood change

summer's gone now for sure
Fast and thoroughly. The landscape (and temperature) has changed the way a movie scene changes. No segue here. Just an abrupt cut. Next scene: miles of yellow chamisa.

The rains that were supposed to come during the summer are hitting us now. For more than a week it has rained every day and during the night. We awaken to thick clouds and soaked landscape. Everything's turning green again. I'm confused. During the clear times, the cloudwork and mountain shadows are overly dramatic - further reinforcing my belief that nothing is ordinary around here. Whatever weather is happening at the moment, seems to have happened forever and will stay forever - until the next unexpected something moves in and I'm taking pictures as if I've never seen it before - and I haven't really, have I?

Yesterday we zoom-zoomed down through the canyon to Santa Fe. I wasn't driving so I took pictures that didn't capture what I saw - how can an image with its size limitations capture a sky and landscape that has no limits? Still, I tried. With odd results.

Driving home in the pouring rain, I fell in love with the yarn I'd traded with friend Josie last weekend. It's Rowan dk soft - sigh! - 85% wool/15% polyamide. Only Rowan can combine these ingredients into a sophisticated, fuzzy, gorgeous yarn. I haven't knit in the car much lately. When Ron's driving we're usually in the Miata, which is not conducive to peaceful knitting. But at the last moment, before we left the house, I grabbed the ball of yarn and a circular needle. All the way to SF and back and while I waited for him as he ran his brief errands, I worked on a long hand warmer.

The color is a deep dove gray and fits the cloud and seasonal mood perfectly. I'd walked in the park in the early morning and it was cold. My short handwarmers left a gap between them and the start of my sleeve. Secretly I really wanted to try out the yarn, but it turned out that I also wanted to make something practical. By this morning I almost finished the first one. I'll go back and do the thumbs when the pair is finished.

I'll be leaving soon for our walk (Spike and me). We're walking later today since it's so wet and chilly out there. But I see the grey fleece cloud cover beginning to separate and I'd better bring the camera.

beyond the aspens
cashmere sweater gray clouds
wool warms my hands

the wonder of it all

bulging bags and wide smiles
On days filled with recollections of that other September 11th, a modest inflow and outflow of people, mostly women, spent yesterday and today browsing, talking, knitting, reminiscing, buying, laughing, selling, trading (lots of that!), during our four-person yarn stash sale. Saturday's rain and cold (and snow on the mountains) brought in a steady stream of fiber seekers dreaming about sweaters, hats, mittens. Today's gorgeous autumn-y day filled with sunshine and blue sky propelled people outside and into our doorway.

So much yarn - and books, bags, needles.... How did it happen?
Some of us fell in love.

Or went away with bags of yarn they could hardly carry.

Or came back for more and got giddy.

the location
We were in Gus Foster's amazing photography studio/gallery. Sixteen-foot panoramic photographs surrounded us with scenes of nature, whimsy, beauty that seemed real enough to step into. We thank him for letting us use the space again. Occasionally he popped his head in and quickly left with an incredulous look on his face as he observed the enthusiasm (dare I say frenzy?) of yarnistas in action!

By mid-afternoon today we cleared our stuff out, put the studio to rights and went home with our own new treasures, a bit lighter in the yarn stash department, a little heavier in the wallet, and the feeling that the items we'd grown bored with or had abandoned, would soon be transformed into new garments. There were fresh images, renewed inspiration, information, gratitude, memories. Thanks to all who share our love of fiber and craft and came out this weekend. Enjoy your treasures as we will enjoy ours.