Model for a Gazebo from “The Timing of Birds” by Eleftheria Lialios
“Model for a Gazebo from ‘The Timing of Birds'” by Eleftheria Lialios Art has the power to contribute to our overall well being. It can inform and guide everything in our life. In the visual arts, it makes connections through our visual cortex, bringing up past associative memories stored in our brain. It can help direct the future, or simply point to life forms living with us, reminding us of...
Some Rough in the Hand, Some Smooth by Marge Piercy
“Some Rough in the Hand, Some Smooth” by Marge Piercy On the sill of the window beside my desk, a row of stones sits, collected on travels. Like builders of stone circles – some grand like Avebury or Stonehenge most small, just the local rocks that could be easily moved into place, but special in their way— I find some stones liminal, giving off power like radiation. Some from famous sites –the Akropolis— or...
The Laughing Place by Tara L. Masih
“The Laughing Place” by Tara L. Masih You need a place like this to go to, I tell her, like my sister and I had when we were young. It’s called the Laughing Place. You cannot be in that place without laughing. No matter what is going on in your world, in that space, only laughter is allowed. You start in the spring, sowing morning glory seeds in a circle around the sticks you’ve erected to form a teepee. Part...
Black Cat in a Field By Beverly Lafontaine
“Black Cat in a Field” by Beverly Lafontaine If you see a black cat in a field, stop, let the world go by while you and the black cat explore the field. Smell the morning air, suburb air, full of traces of gasoline, burned wood, diesel, dog shit and the raw remnants of wandering skunk. Smell it, inhabit it. Know that you are alive. Know that you, the cat and a dozen mice occupy this field, where the long...
Airy Humus by Lynn Tudor Deming
“Airy Humus” by Lynn Tudor Deming So it goes on a good afternoon, screening this top soil by the drive, jostling it over the mesh so the clean loam drops through, sifting out delicate cobwebs of roots, tendrils of weeds limp in slime, my sweat salting the collards of this stew until everything unwanted— little green bowls of splintered pignut, broken twigs, earth-caked stone, is left behind; better still to sift the...
Does the sea remember everything? I wonder.
Does she absorb everything? Does she keep it safe?
Virginia Woolf
. . .
The Q: Can you fathom the spectacle that would be created if we moved together, arms outstretched, close enough to touch?
The Q: What echoes through you that longs to take form—a poem, an image, a mark, a whisper of becoming?
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fathoms Feb 28, 2026 -
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