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Showing posts from April, 2016

Back To My Roots

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My prancy boy (he truly prances like a gaited horse) and I walk the moss-carpeted trails on our mountain nearly every day.
Yesterday as the dulcet baritone of my Rasta Man's voice slid into my ear I tried to paint him a picture of trees talking, describe the freedom felt in following a deer path until you lose it and using the same one to get back home.
He said he's glad I'm happy.
But it's not just happy, its more than that. My roots just couldn't catch hold in the hot sandy soil of the islands. They curled and bent and conformed to their pot as best they could. At times they even flourished, but, as with most plants, they needed their true habitat to thrive.
Here I feel them unfurling and sinking into rich black soil, wrapping round stones, and twisting through cracks in the bed rock.
Creating a foundation they are.

Recently I was walking my other piece of property with my agent who is also my sister and some prospective buyers and their agent. I had my twin nie…

Buds Bursting

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I know I haven't posted any updates since moving North, besides a few pictures on Facebook.  I don't have internet at my sweet little cabin yet, and was hesitant to get it since I was leasing month to month. I'm delighted to share with you all, though, that I spoke to the landlord and I'm good for three months now! Woo hoo.  It really is delightful here. I'd forgotten the pure magic of Spring. The apparent lack of life everywhere. Gray, black, brown, but wait, tiny hints of green just at the tips of branches. Tentative sprinkles of color tasting the still cool air. Almost time.  Redbuds splash the air boldly with their magenta blossoms competing with forsythias that are like flames shooting into the sky. Coltsfoot gingerly push aside their brown leafy blankets and raise their yellow faces just in time for my cold that I caught. Ever so cautiously the tender buds test the air. I'm reminded of a poem that Ms Misantropia (http://msmisantropia.blogspot.com/) sent to me…

Work-In-Progress Wednesday

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The breeze ruffles mulberry leaves while Cuban Finches argues over which branch has the juiciest berries by my gate.
It is a lovely sunshine you day in Nassau, and I am spending it sanding, sparking, and trying to patch up an apartment that should be gutted and renovated.  (I think the spackling compound looks like ice cream!) The wall-tastrophe above started out as what looked like bubbles under the paint, then whole sections rotted and fell away.
Little by little I am getting there.  Anubis and I fly out Monday morning bright and early, so it's good I'm almost finished. 
The picture above is a good reminder of what's waiting for me and what I'm working towards. My sister and my Mom an two nieces went and checked out my little cabin for me, and it's livable. The twins say the beds check out as jump able. 
I'm finishing up some art bags that I will either abandon or bring North with me to sell.
So, as you see, lots of work in progress around our little Nassau Nest. Miss…

Lament For Luscious

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While many celebrate and write birthday songs for a certain Witchy Aries, because she asked it of her devotees here: http://magalyguerrero.com/write-me-a-birthday-dirge-dark-poetry-for-the-cruellest-month-2016-day-2/I used today's prompt to remember the forgotten midwife in this dirge-worthy day. The woman who may have welcomed the creature into this world and paid with her life; poor Luscious the Midwife, or Comadrona, in her native Spanish.
The sorrowful song of Luscious, La Comadrona was recorded so her daughter's never forget,  "When birthing a witch, never wear Eau de Parfum, Mango"
LAMENT FOR LUSCIOUS
Oh sorrowful song Shrugged from shoulder to shoulder  Of salt-air breeze Whisper' in shadow Behind velvet fronds Of coconut trees
Of claw'd talons grasp'd 'Round el cuello Of a  comadrona And no one helped Pry the fang less maw from her vein. Nadie, ni sola una persona.
Now we sing of her, Luscious La Comadrona How it happen so  ...never forget! When birth'n a witch…

Keep The Dog Far Hence - poetry for the cruelest month

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I had a good life I chased seagulls, lizards, and people Just me and my Human. Alone on our island  He was sick, but he recovered. He named me Kemosabe I was a friend. After the treatment  He called me Kemo. I guarded. I comforted. The supply plane came in The buzzing drove me mad,  I bit the wheels, the wings as it landed The last thing I tasted was the propeller... The new puppy is cute Who the hell needs cute? Oh keep the dog far hence, that's friend to [My Human] My spirit will never leave the cay. My body feeds palm trees and orchids now,  But my spirit remains. I forever guard. I shall not rest.