Apache Bouquet Agate, Rarest of the Rare
I stood for a long time this morning inside the kitchen window, inhaling the smell of the rain's first drops
of the earth just wet
and the plants sighing
after all the heat.
It's not quite the same punch and tobacco as the smell of a midwestern thunderboomer,
but it soothes just the same.
Unknown Porcelain Jasper
My heart of late is so beaten up with loving so deeply
so stretched in its growing that I feel compelled to ice it;
to freeze and close up for the winter,
I hear howling in the distance: I know there is evil in the world.
When I am so utterly spent I turn to the wheels,
to the Earth.
The above cabochon (some sort of unnamed porcelain jasper (Paiute?)
I got at Chapman's Gem and Mineral Shop on the 101 right before I dove into lapidary)
took two years to finish.
I remember with a smile how I could not for the life of me grasp the concept of the dome,
of the little ledge, too on the side of the stone...
when I finally understood after Ed's patient teaching
it was like a lifeline to something
so freeing I cannot even explain it.
Putting the final shaping and polish on her felt surreal
I felt better.
Priday Moss Agate, High Dome
Sometimes when I cab I am holding my breath, willing that perfect picture to make it through the grinding and polishing
hoping that what the strong grits reveal in an agate is even more amazing than the surface design:
it's kind of like a mini-gamble -
the healed fracture,
the colorful banding
the plume that sits too close to the surface of the Priday...
And sometimes I breathe, Ujjayi-style
buried beneath my ear protection.
Polka Dot Agate
Of late I've been loving the rectangular shape
and I am trying to perfect a design that has a faceted look, but with a gentle rounding of the edges that faceting makes sharp:
a hybrid, really.
Yesterday, as he does every weekend, Anthony scooped up the
Tiny One and gave me free reign to work in between Milks.
There is soldering to be done, but my heart wasn't there at that bench...
there was leatherwork to pour myself into but I felt it, too could wait.
Prudent Man Agate
The call of these little miracles you see is what won without contest;
a barely discernable chorded hum (1,3,5) that they emit
when you hold them in your palm,
when you wear them wrapped in sterling, fine silver and gold
when you see them in the rough:
"Let us heal you,"they sing
and so they do.