the invisible trapeze artist

27 weeks

Sometimes it feels as though

there is a little trapeze artist inside of my belly

or a boxer

or a trampoliner

or a spelunker

or someone who's knitting

or knocking

or playing the tamborine

or kneading bread

all, of course, inside of a pool

with its curious slow-motion

buffered movement and, I imagine,

great transmission of sounds

Banjo likes it when I read to him and last evening, in my evening bath, he really liked it when tim came in and visited for a while, his deeper voice echoing and carving out shapes in the quiet and the water.


Don't let anyone tell you that pregnancy isn't fun. That's a rumor I've heard going around lately in my neck of the woods.


Every experience you have is what you make of it.


(Sometimes I even take my own advice.)


Elsewise, we're enjoying the fun of cleaning and arranging our house to rent, going for walks in the cold-these-days woods, making blueberry pancakes at odd times. I'm enjoying greatly these last couple of months with my beloved familiar local library, and have just a few works to frame this week for a nearby show.


xo brooke

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