the fog the bog the lake the mist

some gifts are sustained in their giving, like my residency at blue
mountain center. there was the actual time and space and community of
the one month we spent together on a lake in the mountains making art.
it was covid times and we were in a pod and agreed to not leave. amazing
we did that. ten artists living in a big old mansion together. there is
the physical actual works that were made/produced that exist and will
last for some time. then there is the lingering and lasting ‘new
information that has been presented’ and resides in the lovely murky
parts of the mind and memory where they froth and bubble and rise to the
surface, things like names of books and authors, a particular moment in
the landscape, certain unbelievable starry nights, decentralization of
power within the organization, the unique layering of place and people
at a particular time, the possibilities of what can be and who can be
what, the stories that were told I am remembering them now, the mountain
that looked out for the me, the bog that created itself and gurgled
under me around my legs , the mist of my skin, the soft glowing
envelope of fog, the lake bathing me with her cold clear water