first post

I'm sitting on a licheny rock down in the corral below the barn, a pair of scissors in my pocket & a foraging bag of stinging nettles to my side. My hands are itching & howling as a I write; forgot to bring gloves. I discovered this patch of wild nettles while in pursuit of the spring watercress which Doug Joses told me he & his wife have been picking from around the small green pond, the one you peer down into as you take the great shoulderless hill down into the thrumming, bewitching heart of Calaveritas.

RIght now the meandering pear trees are releasing virginal white blooms from their old grey branches, stretching out like little doves' fingers, & the maidenhair ferns have been creeping down to the creek at night to drink. I myself am heading home to cook up the nettles & watercress, with a couple of Casey's faintly turquoise eggs.