West

Paths wind and meander
through passes made from ice and saga;
a fierce and fragile beauty.

Moss, greener than growth ,
covers volcanic rock;
spills onto damp paper
-circles in Icelandic clay.

Light, white as time/
soft as morning;
stillness atop ancient triangles.

Feathers on wet basalt
as time refracts off
blue spring;
life.

You stand beside a map of glacial water
as I collect elements
in my ice cold hands.

weeds and wild places

I spent five joy filled days on the island of Iceland last week. It was too magical to be truly real but I have drawings, pictures and words to remind me of the majesty the natural world opened up for me. I will slowly share them in this little space here.

'I want to go out into the wakening, blue world with you.'