Lake Corriher Wildlife Area

There's a little park across from one of my favorite libraries in Rowan county, next to my home county Cabarrus.  Up until today, I've never had the time and/or, I don't know - nerve? -  to cross the road and go explore; but with bright sunshine, cloudless blue overhead, a stiff (sometimes biting) breeze, and temps in the mid-forties, today I just couldn't resist.  It's a lovely little place, with streams and a bridge and with hiking trails around the man-made titular Lake Corriher if you head left from the parking lot, and some nice sporting facilities if you head the other way.  I don't care much about that, but, whatever.  Full disclosure.  And they'd still make for a nice walk.  I think I'll take Cutty there sometime.

*Sigh* I tried putting in a clever little slideshow with html text, buuuuuut no.  So it'll just have to look all low-tech and dorky.  Here are the other pictures:
*HEAVY sigh* Ok, the format is doing something.  Really. Wonky, and I don't know why and I can't seem to fix it.  So Whatever.  I fail at technology.

 

iPhoto of the week: Lucky Cat Bowl

I'm interested in the ability my iPhone gives me to take artsy pictures with my phone camera alone.  In keeping my Ravelry handspun page updated, I've discovered a talent (I think) for taking "portraits" of my yarn.  I'll be sharing those in the future, but since I've had a terrible, terrible cold with attendant low-grade fever for the past week, I thought I'd share this snap of my favorite lucky cat bowl filled with comfort soup... Well, just Cambell's, really. 

Between that and starting my new Alter-Ego to protect my secret identity (read: job), I'm pretty well dragged through the gutter.  I'll probably be intarweb-silent until this time next week. 

Stay well, don't get sick.  Be Imaginary. 

I Am

I Am

I am the cutting scent of cold water after

snowfall, falling with a silence so chill it

cracks mountain stones

I am the desolate cry of the unknown marsh

 bird, weeping my sorrow in the wild

wetlands marooned

I am the gnarled, twisty hands of bracken

that rise clutching at the edges of your

patchwork fields of wheat & corn & barley & rye

I am the little weed who cracks the

foundation of your very civilization and tells

of your coming destruction

For I will reclaim.

- Do you hear it? Do you hear the dust of all

your endeavor swirling in my wake?

But yes.

I am also the palette of the universe

contained in a single drop of dew with the

sunlight shining through it

I am the tumbling breeze that whistles

sweetly through the grasses & the leaves

I am the taste of frost-crisped apples,

splitting from streaked red skin to ivory

center with the teardrop seeds of future

forests

I am the summer-collected dandelion fluff

sticking to the warmth of your child's tiny

fist

 

Memorial Gardens

Photoshoot!!!