me and my people
me and my people, we talk to plants
our bodies feel what is true.
we have gifts of vision and clarity
we are creative, sensitive, magic, intuitive, queer
wildness runs in our bones.
we are radical and ancient,
shakeable like grass, like me
HUMANS + PLANTS
BELONG TO BE
SIDE BY SIDE
Pen + Ink + Digital
our spring path
Pen + Ink
yarrow through the hand lens
closer than the eye
Hogweed, Yarrow, Clover, Elder
to hold in my hand
often wanting to go
slow and sure
loudly, our names
growing out, pulling up
In collaboration with CGLIF
WALK in your own time
REST your feet
WALK your path
TAKE your time
imagine looking forever // pine forever
Reaching for the moon / sometimes the sun / but not very often.
Exploring Grief and Extinction
in memory of life
Various rituals + photo
Jane said "the birds body is in the bushes, will you both do something for her?”
So we took her in our hands; she was already decomposing,
her brains were filled with tiny white worms.
We took her to the top of the hill,
just beyond the forest, where the badgers come out at night,
we lay her on a bed of sycamore leaves.
Then we walked to the garden, and picked flowers, orange, yellow, blue.
it was nearly winter.
The day we said goodbye to the Mistle Thrush,
I remembered when I first met her.
I spent weeks walking around the garden, trying to work out who made those cackling noises,
who flew from tree to tree feasting on sweet, poisonous berries.
I guess i am getting used to saying goodbye.