Miriam Feder

We always have a wonderful teaser about this time of year. The rains will be back. But the early burst of sun is too good, too intoxicating for us to be practical. We Northwesterners just have to throw ourselves at it. My little homage:

Sunshine pulls energy from my fingertips and hair roots like an insistent partner dragging the shy girl out of the shadows. Old kinks fall from my back—new one’s don’t even notice their beginnings as my body twists and turns with the rhythm of the dapples dancing on streaks and patches of light.

Bulky clothes fall away and skin shyly floats to the surface. “Touch me, touch me” it calls to the glorious columns of light—shocked at it’s own boldness. Legs, ribs, skull long for the steam to be released from rain-soaked bones, Away wooly layers, layers due for cleaning, for boxes, for the thrift store and the wooden trunk. It’s time to bare thoughts, limbs and hair and forget gooseflesh. This is the beginning of spring.

In Print

 

 Fall and the Back-to's [2:24m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (44)

I’ve lived uneasily with Frazzle for years and finally found out his name when I was listening to Lotte Streisinger—potter, printmaker and author—reading from her recent book on the creative process. (The Potter and the Muse, 2006, Kalliope Press, available at The Museum of Contemporary Craft in Portland.) I wonder if Frazzle and I can get along a little better now that we officially recognize one another? In Print

 

 Frazzle [3:06m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (73)

I’ve come back to this very romantic piece for Valentine’s Day.

We barely knew each other, but it was time to celebrate his birthday. So I suggested a trip to the coast? What location held more promise, energy, escape?

The atmosphere was so charged just checking into the hotel. I hadn’t checked into a hotel with a man other than my ex in over 20 years. There was a king sized bed, a hot tub, and him and me and hours and hours of us.

Just after midnight we finally dragged ourselves out of bed and down to the beach. I’d heard something about the Leonid meteor shower. No one would count on a clear sky at Cannon Beach, but there it was, black velvet sparkled with stars everywhere– and then they started to fly. They shot from the foreground to the background, across the sky in wild arcs, low to high and back again. They fired at Haystack Rock in the Pacific. The trusty monument was surprised to hand over its glory to the coastal sky, finally free of her chinchilla stole and busy staging the best light-show in the world.

The half-dozen of us strung across the wide beach bonded in ecstatic exclamations. We spun around dizzily to catch the action. The sky wasn’t still for a moment. My birthday boy knew all the constellations by name, distance, and location. He was a fabulous guide to our sparkled travels that evening: twisting, turning and gasping in the excitement of it all. Some hours later, we finally gave it up, although the show went on and on.

I learned since that nature does not speak in signs, metaphors, allegories or favorites. That brilliant display had nothing to do with our brilliance, suitability, or the destiny of our love, however much I wanted to believe it. Romance, like everything else, looks for confirmation. And what could be better than this amazing night with my star stud. It was fantastic and for awhile, it sparkled our shiniest points.

 

 Star Stud [2:54m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (108)

The start of the year seemed like a good time to revisit Blessings. What’s important? Who’s important?  All the big questions sneak up on us this time of year.

 

 Blessings [4:18m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (61)

A freak snowstorm might be just what we needed to slow down and breathe.

 

 Interruption [2:13m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (65)