8 F Y R E ' B I R D 8

we are beginning to feel autumn bite at our fingertips. it nips at the tips of our ears and tickles the inside of our necks, not yet covered by scarves.   i love autumn. i love this witch bitch, sad boygirl fall. i love when things get colder, leading us to gather warmth around fires, with loved ones, and in our hearts.   my ancestors know something about how to keep and stay warm throughout the winter months. i am thinking of my slavic peoples, who braved beautiful and terrible winters for generations.   there is one in me who is thinking about stocking, taking stock, and preparing for the colder months to come.   i am in a new home. with a new view. i am next to green again, writing with green. is this home perfect? no, but what is. i am learning to let go of my deeply embedded perfectionism that white supremacy and colonialism has taught me. i do not need to be perfect. neither does anything around me .   letting go of this is libe...

echo memory :: june 19, 2018 :  i am sitting here, in the mountains and i can smell the alfalfa near me. it is not growing. it is tied up, in a bundle. this bundle is for my use. it is for the practice of archery. i have yet to transport it to the forest for this purpose. the smell of it is nice. it lingers. it reminds me of fall, which reminds me of my childhood, which reminds me of my birthday. as i was transporting it, it shed many pieces of itself and they ended up collecting along the edge where the wall meets my deck. i liked this. i hope it liked it. i kept them there. for the lingering scent, but also for the sight, of something beautiful. of a chaotic, kind of beauty that i feel happens the most in the fall, when things are letting go and finding themselves strewn about everywhere, in a surrender to death, to change, to transition, to life.   the rain is trickling, the rhythms of it can be heard against the trees and the rooftop. playing with each other. the...