• Woods

    I came across this poem on Arlene Wanetick's website, art 4 play. Loved it so much I made a journal spread to incorporate it:


    I wish to grow dumber,

    to slip deep into woods that grow blinder

    with each step I take,

    until the fingers let go of their numbers

    and the hands are finally ignorant as paws. 

    Unable to count the petals,

    I will not know who loves me,

    who loves me not.

    Nothing to remember, 

    nothing to forgive, 

    I will stumble into the juice of the berry, the shag of bark,

    I will be dense and happy as fur. 

    Noelle Oxenhandler



Bunk painting

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