Thursday, December 08, 2005
Monday, December 05, 2005
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Friday, September 30, 2005
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Silk Creek Review Editor Scott Carter Writes on the Brink of the gorge at Silk Creek. The Silk Creek Retreat happened privately this weekend because we were unable to open it to the public this year. Photo by Mary Stebbins
Monday, September 26, 2005
Tonight was your first time. You stepped
Toward dark waters, burdened with blankets and light.
Your first time. Dark weeds engulfed you,
nettles stung your bare legs. You struck
at them with a stick, as if they were serpent,
as if they were hungry, while the weight
of the night swung precariously
on your back. You reached out
a foot for stepping stone, a foot
for the dark water, and slipped. Sudden,
unexpected, you plunged into the icy creek.
Water swelled up around you, your body
slid into the dark current. Away downstream,
your hat swirled and you rose up to plunge
after it, staggering to shore with the prize, dripping,
angry, embarrassed. Your dumped a quart
and a half from each boot. Slogged up the hill,
home. All these years you've lived on the creek,
and you never fell in. Now you can laugh, and you do.
And you don't. You're poised on the creek bank
again in the nettles, one foot stretched
toward the water. You still have to cross
the dark water.
For Scott Carter, At Silk Creek Retreat ‘05
(see note below about Retreat)
We hope next year to be able to host a public event, and we invite your feedback as to:
- venue (location)
Do suggest other things we might consider when planning this event.
We have always camped and would like to be able to have that as an option, but we realize there are people who may not want to camp or may not, for health or other reasons, be able to camp.
We will be posting photos and writing samples from this year's private retreat and invite you to do likewise. If you want to join this blog, leave your email address or contact me for an invite.
Mary Stebbins, poetry editor for Silk Creek Review and retreat co-coordinator
Friday, September 23, 2005
Cooling off at Bubbles Cascades, Silk Creek: It was the first day of fall yesterday, but warm enough to swim! Photo by Mary Stebbins
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
WHO: Mick Mather
WHAT: "The Great New York State Fair Series" an exhibition of digital prints - manipulated
photographs taken at The Fair in August 2004.
View the invitation post card
WHERE: The Westcott Community Center Art Gallery, corner of Wetscott Street at Euclid Avenue
WHEN: Saturday, October 1st, 6:00pm to 8:00pm
WHY: Because we ALL need an ART NIGHT
HOW: Drive, walk, hitchhike, catch a cab, ride the bus
MICK SEZ: "Most of you who know me already understand that I'm an active participant in the
arts & cultural community of Central New York. This is important to me and I would like to
think that my presence at your exhibitions and openings over the years was been important to
you. In the spirit of strengthening this community of artists, patrons, friends and all those
interested in the arts, I trust that you will take an hour to visit me and my artwork on
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
You have the equipment for JOY -- eyes, ears, and an experienced
appreciation meter -- to get highs, off and on all day long :
the light fingering the row of books, the drops of rain on the
clothesline, the long shadow the pebble casts at dawn, the
pendulum swing of a wasp settling in for a drink at the bird
bath, the crunch, and spurt of juice and scent, as you bite the
apple, the addictive sweetness of the ripe plum and the breathtaking
way it pulls off the secret in the center, the hazy
bloom on the grape, the coiling circles behind your dug paddle
when canoeing, the -- oh, on and on.
Note by Pam Perkins-Frederick, photo by Mary Stebbins.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Day 1: After we set up camp, right on the lake, we walked on the Hemlock Ridge trail. There we saw a "drowned forest" (an area of woods flooded by Beaver that had become a large swamp) that contained what appeared to be an osprey nest (but no osprey to be seen) and what appeared to be a small heron rookery (but no heron to be seen). As the name suggested, the trail followed a hemlock-covered ridge and then wound through rocky ledges and crevices. It was very pretty (gorgeous, really), but nearly unbearably hot and very buggy. Extremely buggy. We practically ran the last leg of the trail. Dove into the tent with an entourage of bugs trailing.
Day 2: Overnight, we heard loons. We never tire of that eerie laughing sound, the haunting melody floating over the lake to our tent. It was horribly hot all night even without the fly on the tent. Restless and moist. In the morning, we rented a canoe and paddled from island to island, stopping to explore the islands, take pictures and swim. The islands were rocky and Adirondacky, part of a long finger of Canadian shield extending southward. We saw a large bird that was probably an osprey and two loons. We visited a number of islands and saw three deer on the largest one. A group of kids were diving and jumping from a cliff—I got excited and wanted to try it.
wasn't something i was looking for
nor even expected
but when it came
everything turned beautiful
to experience someone from a distance
and still feel the same passion from within
it made me feel like a different woman
but i felt more like me
and it's this love that made me discover
what lies underneath me
it all but happened just once in this lifetime
the certainty of it all
but it is the same love
that hurt me in the end
but i will treasure all the memories
that came along with this love
it will all be here in me
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Sharp smell from old leaves
brewed with mud and sun-
April fills the woods.
Take me! Let me be a part of you,
let me drift with the breeze
touching each naked branch,
each brown leaf on the hillside.
Take me downstream with the fastest current,
making strands of gray hair on the rocks,
cascading down a mossy stone
following gravity, rushing here,
slowing there into a luscious pool
decked with bubbles.
Take me! I want to obey only the laws of nature.
I want to rise with spring and lie down with autumn.
I want my heart to leap up with the spray of the brook,
with the clatter of ducks taking flight.
I want the hairs on my cheek to feel
the caress of Earth's breath.
I want gratitude to fill my heart
until it aches in my chest
and the feeling runs out from my eyes.
Please take me. Let me know
that I am always your child,
that I can come back
to your arms over and over
until the last great return,
when my atoms enter back
into your lungs and your blood
and I am all yours.
by Ann McNeal
Previously published in Patchwork Journal
Ann McNeal says that she finds consolation and inspiration in nature at all the critical junctures of her life. She recently retired from teaching science at Hampshire College to devote herself to writing and to living larger.