I mowed my lawn today. The dandelions were getting big for their briches. Beyond laying them low and weed wacking a bit of clarity about the great quartz stones I’ve collected, I let the pasture expand. 

I didn’t mow perhaps 50 feet from the road, creating something of a threshold between here and there. I think I’m going to make a some art to flank it; sinking some old crooks of maple that fell on the chicken fence last fall.

Thresholds feels important. They’re great big sculptures and you can feel something when you walk through them, at least I can, at least with this one. There’s stuff like Heizer’s work, but that feels as alien as Mars to me, maybe more so. The landscape of another mind.

We walked the part of the land we hope some day to buy. An ancient logging road coils across it like a snake, connecting flat spots, bits of trash, bits of brook, boulders. 

Walking through a place like this for the first time feels like the discerete unfolding of a dream: from room to room to room with no real reality to the moments between them. 

That’s what the land across the brook felt like when we first arrived. It felt totally confused; a bunch of trails connected and disconnected from the Reishi tree to the convergence or the old truck. 

After a year of walking that tract I can picture the loop and hold all the stuff within it in my mind.