Tuesday, November 22, 2011

chicken yen

I want my chickens. I despair at my lack of chickens, fresh eggs, and even the poop. yes, I despair the lack of chicken poop. I keep reading the chicken book Carra gave me,Chick Days Raising Chickens from Hatchlings to Laying Hens. It makes me laugh, it makes me cry, and it is the perfect 'go to' book when I'm too tired for retention but want to read a few pages before bed. Anyone who knows me well knows that I fell in love with a little Ancona hen this summer. I named her Florence, and held her in my arms. I made up songs about her new comb and wattle, her wee talons, her black and white speckly feathers. I sang them to her as I scratched her beak, and she would close her eyes and coo for me. When she was nervous, i would tuck her head under my arm and she would sleep there. We had a bond. Sadly, her independent little self wandered too far from the flock in late August and she became supper for a fox. Sadly, sadly. This week I will be making a little chicken canvas in honor of Florence. In the mean time, here is Florence.

Friday, November 18, 2011

city scapes

My week has been happily consumed in the making of matchbook cities. Here is a smattering of quotes from the section I was inspired by... From Sexing The Cherry by Jeanette winterson "The people who throng the streets shout at each other, their voices rising from the mass of heads and floating upwards towards the church spires and the great copper bells that clang the end of the day. Their words, rising up, form a thick cloud over the city... The words resist erasure....Indeed I was sorry to see the love-sighs of young girls swept away. My companion, though she told me it was strictly forbidden, caught a sonnet in a wooden box and gave it to me as a memento. If I open the box by the tiniest amount I may hear it, repeating itself endlessly as it is destined to do until someone sets it free....That night two lovers whispering under the lead canopy of the church were killed by their own passion. Their effusion of words, unable to escape through the Saturnian discipline of lead, so filled the spaces of the loft that the air was all driven away. The lovers suffocated, but when the sacristan opened the tiny door the words tumbled him over in their desire to be free, and were seen flying across the city in the shape of doves." Beauty and wonder. And so I am creating little cities with the sky full of words, and am loving it.