M A R Y' S m e s A

Her hour is dusk, when the sky turns a blue you can't name
and the grasses hold their light a little longer.

________

Welcome.

We make a few OAK pieces each year.

he goes straight up
over the open ground,
wings whistling

Then
he
falls.

Small, plain, and made from the offcuts

every droplet falls
into rising air.

they neither sow nor reap, neither do they gather into barns

e x p e c t m i r a c l e s

Glyptemys insculpta

at the crossroads

how beautiful you are

greater is She who is in me than she that is in the world