Isabella Bird Miscellany

thanks, john derian, for your big picture book Usually if I’m writing about an artichoke it would be in relation to food, you know, dipping each triangular-ish leaf in warm butter or uber garlicky mayo. However, I think there are other enticements to an artichoke. peeling away the layers reveals the heart My life as an artichoke generates all sorts of images. They have prickly points on the end of each petal, with tough outer layers and layers underneath that are delicate. As you continue to strip off the outer leaves, you’ll eventually reach the choke … and the heart. oh thistle with a heart a flower bud that hasn’t bloomed peeling away layer after layer a picture of living, delight, anticipation in the book of things, something magical hidden under pricked leaves choke guards the heart ‘til security petals are stripped away Life is full of hard stuff, mine being no exception to the rule. A few years back times, events and s

doodles on the side of a wall, graffiti or art? little hands scrawl squiggly, wiggles on a page free, creative marks with no rhyme or reason this is a pony, this is a cloud no resemblance can be seen, but it’s there “aren’t lines supposed to be straight?” comments the adult mind, stuck in a box of rules We’ve lost the ability to just think, to watch clouds and scribble. Doodling away time – what a waste, not productive to jot and color, and heaven forbid, outside the lines. Aren’t lines supposed to be straight? Predictable? What about crossing the proverbial line, bending it or careful, wobbling on it? Walk the line, draw the line, but don’t cross the line. Peek, if you dare to take the chance, at the Alice in Wonderland possibilities on the squiggly side of the line. nothing straight here, except the lines in the corrugated tin These thoughts speak strongly to my keen sense of sensibility. By nature I am organized and productive. I find taki