Wednesday, June 28, 2017
Monday, June 26, 2017
Thursday, June 22, 2017
Monday, June 19, 2017
Saturday, June 17, 2017
Friday, June 16, 2017
COMMUNITY PARTNERS:
Sierra Club: Environmental Justice Committee ~ Urban Bee Company ~ Permaculture NOW!
Susan With Camera ~ Design Collaborators ~ ZeroWaste Seattle ~ 21 Acres ~ Go Natives! Nursery
Alleycat Acres ~ City Fruit ~ Botanique ~ Seattle Urban Farm Coop ~ Seattle Tilth ~ Urban Systems Design
Dirt Corps ~ Green Infrastructure Partnerships (GrIP) ~ Stewardship Partners
Sierra Club: Environmental Justice Committee ~ Urban Bee Company ~ Permaculture NOW!
Susan With Camera ~ Design Collaborators ~ ZeroWaste Seattle ~ 21 Acres ~ Go Natives! Nursery
Alleycat Acres ~ City Fruit ~ Botanique ~ Seattle Urban Farm Coop ~ Seattle Tilth ~ Urban Systems Design
Dirt Corps ~ Green Infrastructure Partnerships (GrIP) ~ Stewardship Partners
Thursday, June 15, 2017
Praying at the North Winds Weir
Summer started with a storm. The power left and the house darkened Rain drops hurled themselves against the windows.
The quarter ended. Nothing felt finished, failure scented the air with its rotten stank. Errands had to be done, but when I tried to type, the words would not come. I looked into the mirror, and what once seemed acceptable, now looked bloated and hideous. Not able to change my look nor my activity, I ran into the storm.
I ran with a vest, shorts and some paisley decorated rain boots. I ran in the darkness, closed my eyes and prayed. I ran blind, water rushing the the sides of my feet. Puddles threatening to flood my existence. I ran but my heart wouldn't beat. I felt cold and the Duwamish river surged. My skin felt transparent, pale and wrinkly as it soaked in the weather.
I ran to the north wind's weir. I prayed for a better world. I prayed for the salmon to come back. I ran to the bridge and looked in the river. The river swelled and stayed stagnant in torrid rain. I saw dark clouds of oil ooze from the depths, it's oily subsistence killing my existence, and I prayed. I prayed. I prayed. I prayed to gods that I did not understand.
http://www.burkemuseum.org/static/misc/story_north_wind_weir.pdf
The quarter ended. Nothing felt finished, failure scented the air with its rotten stank. Errands had to be done, but when I tried to type, the words would not come. I looked into the mirror, and what once seemed acceptable, now looked bloated and hideous. Not able to change my look nor my activity, I ran into the storm.
I ran with a vest, shorts and some paisley decorated rain boots. I ran in the darkness, closed my eyes and prayed. I ran blind, water rushing the the sides of my feet. Puddles threatening to flood my existence. I ran but my heart wouldn't beat. I felt cold and the Duwamish river surged. My skin felt transparent, pale and wrinkly as it soaked in the weather.
I ran to the north wind's weir. I prayed for a better world. I prayed for the salmon to come back. I ran to the bridge and looked in the river. The river swelled and stayed stagnant in torrid rain. I saw dark clouds of oil ooze from the depths, it's oily subsistence killing my existence, and I prayed. I prayed. I prayed. I prayed to gods that I did not understand.
http://www.burkemuseum.org/static/misc/story_north_wind_weir.pdf
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