There's a rumor, this time ...

Light comes slowly in the woods. Time wears no wristwatches here. There's a rumor this time is the time. No more tampering with clocks from now on. 

Will light come slowly out there, beyond the edge of Alder's shadow? 

~

In town today we saw our friend who lives rough, holds a sign as if to help others with a language they would rather not understand.

HOMELESS, Need Help

Pete stopped the car when he saw the shorter man in the rear view mirror.

"How you doing? How was the winter? We been wondering 'bout you?"

Light comes slowly in the woods. Time wears no wristwatches here. There's a rumor this time is the time. No more tampering with clocks from now on.

Will light come slowly out there, beyond the edge where rooted, footed, settled, owned, rented properlies squeeze all else tightly.

NO ROOM, No Help

~

A page from Mrs Noah's Pockets

 In bed today we lay together in the dark where light comes slowly in the woods. "The List of Seekers grows much longer than the List of Offers. I see one friend, a couple, another, and another seeking for another friend." There are no offers. You tell me later how the Squirrel's voice keeps running circles in your head ... "Seekers long, Offers Short.  Why can't we do something about that?"

I tell you, "I told the man who writes the Lists, 'Thanks for the surfboard that carries so many. That is quite the Ark.' I see the Ark. I feel the flood. I think of the picture book written by a woman of a certain age, drawn by a man, a feminist ... 

The Man (in the picture book) has built the Ark for Those-Just-So. AND. The Woman had a Sewing Machine. AND. She had ideas of her own.

With inspiration from the creators of Mrs. Noah's Pockets and the offer of a summer respite here on Scatchet Head Pete and I are waking up in a place of miracles.  I did the watercolor drawing that opens this post -- observing what I see through the pocket of window created for a golden wagon by a man named Slim, when we were just beginning to be-live life could be different, not exactly JUST-SO.

View through the pocket window

We are dreaming up occasions for lunch at the Pin (the Safety Pin Cafe!): to come up with our/your own creative deep pockets of safety; or small places of peace, even a seasonal respite for some soul in need; for there's a rumor, this time is the time.

for Peace, Pockets, and Pins 

We're experiencing a moment of miracles, a great, big, wyrd, wild myth-making moment of be-living ...

this is the time.

Have you? 

Got a space. 

Got a place. 

Got a pocket, or a properly. 

Got a pin moveable AND good enough.  

Yesterday we met for a munch of lunch, sitting on a low stone wall, three small bowls filled: blue corn chips, thin crispy apple sprinkled with lime, and sweet sweet oranges. Outside not inside because? It's still uncommonly possible for me to go inside a room, in someone's house, in some meeting room. 

Yesterday we sat for lunch, me and Pete and our friend who is a traveler in her fifth season. She prepares for the newest move. We speak of what it feels like to be moving, again, and what it takes to be moving again. 

"Many steps." It takes many steps to live this life where the edge is a moment either way.  I consider the sentence just put down and smirk to that monkey on my shoulder who says, "Why is it? Why is it?" I am writing this, and that monkey is not the boss of me.

"Why is it you are always on the edge?" The monkey makes no never mind about my opinion.

In a conversation with Pete not long ago the answer was, "Because we definite ourselves that way." 

It takes many steps to live this traveling life from a wagon attached to outside. We cook, shit, wash dishes and our dirty clothes outside. We've moved the safety pins to allow curtains to be the slender division of privacy and protection. We have learned they are enough. Others have opinions that differ. 

I stitched and hung this beautiful flannel panel with deep forest Guardians -- Bear, Elk or Deer, and Wolf or Coyote. The outside curtain is plenty enough for our respite on the Scatchet knuckle

Yesterday we sat for lunch -- a Safety Pin Cafe sort of lunch-- me and Pete and Buddha between us. When it was time to say goodbye we rubbed Lord Buddha's belly, wished one another safe travels and happy trails. In the hours that followed, after we had returned to the woods and had a tasty dinner, I felt the fullness of that conversation, that simple lunch ... a safety pin sort of meal that left me filled and aware how uncommon our time with Linda Carol and Buddha was. 

 There's a rumor, this time is the time. 

If this post inspires you to join us for lunch, let us know, email me mokihanacalizar@gmail.com, and say, "I'm in." We'll reply to you and together we'll assemble details for lunch to suit us, or assemble a group of us as the case may be. AND, if you're inspired and would like to thank me with a tip for the post? That would be much appreciated, too ... your email will start the flow of value for value so this post will pay. Mahalo nui loa, thanks so much.

E Ola Mau,

Moki and Pete