Living: The Art of It

We slept on the mud prints of the deer….

Awake:

I.
We slept on the deep mud prints of the Deer, Awi, Anikawi, our clan sign as dusk
scattered like a meteor shower, sea rubbing against cliff, the light
an eggshell blue, the brightest egg of a robin. The boy walks his dog off the leash,
I am unearthed here, after the acres and acres of rain. Brent gives directions,
Atsina exclaims, as he conducts the raising of the new tent-It is a giant house, leading
to the sky. Fascination follows a day of sadness for our girl, now 14, learning how to be
a strong and capable woman. I watch you Tudy in Canada, finding your own
woman’s voice, my boy so strong and capable. How the rocks might dash
your new red boat to bits, if one navigates without attention. Awareness,
the sifting of flour into the bowl from which bread is made, holding a stillness
Love filled, even from a distance of time.


Waterplay

II.
Sync with the splayed open sea of tinkling blue, visceral as the mountain who
is a hill and swallows the sun whole. Stone surrounded by waves lapping and
you are with me, real as the sound of the breeze. Screened in, I cannot touch you,
but watch you, intimate, close. You duck in and out of the downpour, screech of
wind, all but blows you into the water and to me. Separated by a thousand miles,
but connected by this ocean, wrapping our earth. The gift you give us is your time,
while daughter and I conduct the geometric future in our lessons which,
help us visualize time and space and place, indefinite as wind or pain. There is no
sense of winter here on this warm coast, as the mist lifts its skirt from the island’s
bottom, and we sail on from here, little racing boat, water skipping along.

Copyright 2025 Judi Lynne Judy, M.A.