Susan Rachael

Bronze relief, 9 x 9 x 1"

The Untroubled Fox (from the journal)

The golden sun guides
our way home now as
we roll forward into spring. 2-1-12


White cloud,
blue sky,
brown oak leaves,
green hollies,
all quiver with sparkles,
with the light wind,
with squirrel’s twitching tail,
and with the trot of the black-footed fox. 2-1-12


Sitting here with bladdernut
waiting for warmth,
for leaves,
for flowers
and shady days. 2-6-12


Again the red fox,
his black feet making paths now
to places his wet nose leads him. 2-9-12


The great oak
bears the light snow
lightly. 2-11-12


In the beginning it was a passion for things seen—
the pink cherries on a green hill,
the blue chicory,
the curl of torquada’s leaves.

Then it was for things heard—
the water flowing in Sespe Creek,
the two-note call of mourning dove,
the sea moving across damp sand.

And then it was for light—
the setting orange sun on the face,
the blue and pink clouds in the eyes,
the winter light that barely warms the hands.

Now it’s waiting, waiting for breath
to round out all the moments and all the memories,
even this memory, colorless, without passion,
as deep and as wide as winter’s moving light. 2-11-12


Dull winter light
spills down maple’s downward branches,
pools at honeysuckle’s roots,
a dry light without weight. 2-14-12


Clearly blue,
blue jay’s one note
knocks across the blue morning. 2-15-12


Imprisoned here
behind glass,
the wind moves,
the sparkles move.
I do not move.
There is no breath. 2-20-12


I stop
for the untroubled fox
running on three legs. 2-21-12


Here next to holly
little green leaves
pivot in the sun--
early spring dance. 2-26-12


Honeysuckle considers bringing
green order to its messy brown twigs—
an ordered march toward March. 2-28-12

Below the Barberry

Lithograph, 14 x 11 inches

The Undercurrents of Life Are What Keep Us Afloat

Lithograph on gampi, 10 x 15 inches.

Holding on to Breathing Color (from the journal)

The first day is like the last day.
The inkberry is full of moving suns
moving on a field of moving holly. 1-1-12



Sitting in the shade of jade
thinking about opening a space,
a space for time and long thoughts
that could run colored on a page,
or a block, the thin cuts holding the lakes,
the rivers, the seas of settling colors
making the dream, the air dream. 1-1-12



Harlan Hubbard

Somewhere an old man cuts a block
on his workbench. It’s an image of him
and his dog coming into the barn from the snow,
the punctuated light not punctuating his life,
his quiet footsteps in the winter woods
transferred to paper with shades of gray.
His hands hold the block, the fresh cuts
smelling like a spring day, a day with its own light
in shades of gray. 1-3-12



Last night’s snow
comes down silver in the golden sun—
a jeweled, blue rain falling from the trees. 1-10-12



Climbing along the curled waves
of white oak’s brown leaf,
the January ant suns herself
in the winter jade. 1-14-12



Rose and red
bitterwort holds on to
breathing color. 1-15-12



Was it yellow that flash of feathers?
A woodpecker. And then the wild robins
fly in just to see. 1-21-12



Vulture silhouettes in the winter sky—
a gathering of peace, slowness,
gray on palest gray. 1-22-12



In winter’s pause
green moss
greening. 1-24-12



Sometimes there is work.
Sometimes there is waiting,
for work,
for words,
for the touching line
that holds the perimeter. 1-29-12

Woodland Garden Dedication

Bronze relief for Woodland Garden Dedication to honor the years of service of Nature Nancy Herwig to Reston Association, 8 x 10". Poem written by Katie Shaw. Walker Nature Education Center, Reston, Virginia, 2008.

The Affinity of Matter for its Own Myth (from the journal)

It’s a long walk through
winter. Some days are
sunny. 12-3-11


Warm rain,
yellow bells,
squirrel’s tail through it all.
The moist, warm air wants
to be blue. 12-6-11


It’s a slow sound.
Slow rain,
touching, touching
all the moments. 12-7-11


“I thought it was always yours.”
The moment leaving the island,
the quiet people, the
trailing wake, the gray world
left behind in magic,
signed by the pointing hand. 12-10-11


Like all the years before,
the colored tree fills the
breathed out span of winter
with warm dancing sparkles. 12-14-11


The affinity of matter for its own myth—
a kinship carried in on a thought,
brought on by breath,
my breath. 12-14-11


Every now and then we pull away
from the moving leaves,
from the curve of limb,
from the absent sound of birds,
from all the things that are real
and cross an asphalt parking lot,
looking at a myriad of unsmiling strangers
to buy into the season of spending
in hopes the colorful packages
will bring back the sun. 12-15-11


One day
many boundaries, and then,
something will slip. Be
free, Trudy. 12-17-11


Surprising that anything in the woods
is green now.
The sound of a shovel
going through quartz,
schist, and clay. We leave the largest piece
of quartz on top—
a marker. 12-18-11


A bit of warmth,
the broken pieces of jade.
Winter light repairs all. 12-19-11


The world waits for snow,
for the magic of change,
for the softness of blended light
to fix a single point of time
in the timeless gray winter. 12-20-11

Ritual Object from a Parallel Universe

Lithograph, glass, oak, 12 x 10 x 3"

Yellow Rose Rising (from the journal)

Tufted titmouse on the screen
looking for bugs.
Such big feet. 11-1-11


A beautiful journey
to the tall city,
a long river
to go by. 11-3-11


A golden afternoon
at the village blacksmith’s—
the black lizard whistle. 11-7-11


This maple is bare,
the earnestness of all the years
there to see. 11-9-11


The brown leaves
fall through my eyes
leaving their breath
on my breath. 11-9-11


Summer’s dry weight
moves in the blue sky,
dark golden leaves
not ready to let go. 11-12-11


It will be here when all
the other things are gone—
orange stars over hibiscus’ yellow leaves
hanging down,
one moment, in color,
breathed. 11-13-11


The blue wind sets
the orange stars twisting.
Some will spin free
before they are red. 11-13-11


Crab apple’s buds are set against
a warm gray sky. Wren, too,
her single voice. 11-14-11


Sieboldii’s green is gone.
Rose, dark rose, yellow rose rising. 11-15-11


A gray day
warmed by maple’s last yellow leaves.
The slow scrape of the old plastic rake. 11-20-11


Crab apple buds are set.
Carolina Wren announces winter’s silhouette. 11-21-11


Blue jay climbs crab apple branch
calling out the news—
the sun, the sun, the sun
is on his feet. 11-21-11


By my face, outside my window,
yellow honeysuckle
as yellow as any sun. 11-23-11


‘Tis the season
of leaf blowers,
of leaf mold,
of everything down,
but the blue sky
holding up. 11-21-11


Falling through the empty tees,
gray rain,
the sound. 11-29-11


A cat threads her way
around my teacup,
stream rising in the jade. 11-30-11


The light on my eyes
is as before—
all the years,
the spoken story,
the scintillating reflections remembered
as now, the sweet warmth,
sweet. 11-30-11


How everything is—
the empty baskets,
the old toys,
space,
and the memories of space
folding around us. 12-1-11

The Umbrella

Relief, fired clay with glaze, 14 x 14 x 1"



This relief is a portrait of my daughter.