This sweet lamp (a recent gift) sat on her dining room table for as long as I can remember.
December 18, 2024
My One True Friend
Today, we lost a very dear friend—Lois. She lived a long life, surrounded by family until the very end.
Most of my memories of Lois come from my childhood. Though I was small, she never treated me that way. She had so much to share—her sharp mind, her richly detailed stories. I always learned something new from her and marvelled at how she remembered everything so vividly, as though no detail was ever lost.
When Lois spoke, it was with a smile, and her eyes sparkled with the joy of the moment. She had a way of making our time together feel special, and I will always cherish those memories.
I was lucky to witness the beautiful friendship she shared with my mom—a bond that was steady, genuine, and filled with warmth. Lois will be deeply missed.
This poem speaks to me today, offering peace and stillness in the midst of loss. I hope it brings comfort to anyone else who might need it.
The Peace of Wild Things
by Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
November 18, 2024
I recently reconnected with a place I used to visit often. And, miracle of miracles, this special spot is even more beautiful than the last time I was there.
A tree had fallen across the path, and small wood-elves had placed smooth, rounded river rocks precariously balanced along its length. Some rocks perched atop others, while some had slipped off, becoming half-buried by the fallen leaves.
I took this photo and marveled at how striking the textured bark was—it reminded me of the carved textures I use to decorate my pottery. It was a funny moment, as I realized it must be these very textures—tree bark from the species that grow around here—that inspired my work in the first place.
It felt like seeing something again for the first time. The moment had a circular quality, as though I am a part of this place and this place is a part of me.
A Newsletter of Sorts
It all begins with an idea.
As the days grow shorter and the skies turn gray here in my corner of the world, I find myself in that curious in-between season. Low light and drizzle seem to be dominating the landscape, even as the news reports suggest we're in a drought. It's a funny time of year.
We've bid farewell to the warm days of summer, not worrying about our footwear, windows open, curtains swaying in the breeze, checking in on the garden. We’ve pickled all the things and now it's "stick season" (somebody even wrote a song about it) - that time when the leaves are starting to rot, and we're supposed to tell them where to go, but I don't want to.
The cool nights aren't quite cool enough for a fire, and the wood is stacked and drying, waiting for the real cold to set in. There's an unsettled quality to this liminal space between fall and winter, this uncomfortable in-between state. But despite the uncertainty, I do look forward to the cold air and the brightness of the sunlight reflecting off the snow. The quiet.
So, I sit with this expectation of something more, an angst that drives me to meditate, cold-dip, and otherwise try to “be in the moment” - all in an attempt to quell the irritation brewing in my mind as I wait for another state, wait for snow, wait for childhood. But this wait is tinged with fear for the things we knew, the seasons we expected, the memories and nostalgia that kept us hopeful, are in the ether hovering so delicately, so easily threatened by a light gust of tropical air.
Where do we go to get through this waiting period, with a promise we can no longer predict or count on? The days tick by, headed for someplace we'd rather be...maybe?
I’m tempted to tie this up in a bow. A shiny red bow. But I can’t.
I’ll kiss the ones I love, sip my coffee and make something new in the studio. And I’ll wait…for the first flakes of snow.
If you made it to this point, you might as well know I’m having a sale on my Etsy site Nov 18th - Dec 4th 25% off everything! www.etsy.com/shop/thestarbirdpottery