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{putting order to things} sabrina dalla valle steel wire, snipping tools, crimps, clasps, a few tumbled rocks and beads. I was changing my life. Nylon thread partially strung with tiny seed pearls. I could do that: quit a job, a man, leave town, give everything away, dissolve into the wild. Deep reflective indigo, the crisp surface of Pacific Northwest water. I made an altar, collected vestiges to place on it: air in summer that scours lungs, beaded feathers, a pine cone, stones that strangers gave me along the way, photographs of places I didn’t want to forget. Yes, I randomly broke the blue sequence with an occasional green and clear white glass bead. I arranged things just so, with forests that cluster on rocky islands and bald eagles casually gliding above, cautiously placing these pieces of nature as if they were characters on stage who could create a new story to live by. These new relics I decided to take care of would somehow take care of me. Day after day I blew breath into my summer fragments. I was waiting for these gathered pieces to bless me, grant me my place. |
