If i am a hummingbird

found hummingbird, life flown, dried bones, in abalone shell

i've wanted to post songs here, so i'm going to start, because songs are recipes too, for healing and for tending with care, for bringing out attention to those seeds we seek to water.

they are lyric sheets really, because i know best how to share my music in person, because i play in the rhythm of my heart and breath and i haven't learned how to transcribe that to a time signature.

i have older recordings over here, which i hope to return to and share more to, because what are these songs if i don't share them, if i don't risk strain in my voice, missteps in my melodies, and wheezing accordion reeds in my drone?

three excerpts follow. 1) and 2) are intro pages i've been working on to try to word why i play and why i share, and 3) is a song. i'm choosing this one because it's one i dream of singing in group, many voices growing in as the story progresses, as we meet the murrelets, whales and trees again and again. i don't know how to do this alone and i don't think i want to anyway. i'm going to return to recording myself amongst barnacles and snakes, erratic boulders and yarrow stalks. and if you want to find a way in, i am interested to see what may come.

if i am a hummingbird, then i visit you lakeside, i pulse and dive and pause and sip. if i am a hummingbird, and if you find them, please lay my dried bones in an abalone spiral, hold them dear, release them when you're ready.

the generative liminal

i've been writing this post for months now. opening, editing, closing, leaving, letting it settle, returning. worrying in between. stalling. unsure if this is the right portal for me to share through, regretting letting the annual fee pass into my credit card statement unnoticed. but i joined a

change, like a tide

listening (and re-listening) to change from big thief: i sing it to myself often, in change and when reflecting on change. especially the first verse: change, like the wind / like the water, like skin / change, like the sky / like the leaves, like a butterfly. and i add to it:

a soothed bruise

is there a metaphor in bruising, in making a salve - with petals gathered, oils infused and wax rendered - applied tenderly to skin bruised, that might help me learn about rupture and repair, that might soothe towards healing an old heart wound? is there a connection i might weave that tracks

a yarrow pillow

i sit and write by my window, and look up often to the twin berry in the garden i tend, yellow bell flowers often visited. a jar of marbles is close-by because my dad told me no one plays with marbles anymore, but my friend and i have small

Read more

the generative liminal

change, like a tide

a soothed bruise

a yarrow pillow