On radio waves, I considered rainbows, the limitations of fish as a name for an entire species of non-fish, the mystery of holes, petunias, brambles, and dirt under fingernails.
I snuggled on the couch with my kiddo while eating popcorn, watching Ma and Pa, Half Pint, Mary, Jack, and Mrs. Olsen. I admired their pink bonnets against the blue sky and their computer-free existence and all those ambling walks into Walnut Grove.
One, two times a reading happened at Up Up Books. The first was to pay homage to a stick named Sean alongside Kevin Sampsell and Erica Berry. The second, which was last night, I read about undressing my heart with five other writers, including Brian Benson and Jules Ohman.
Rolling into the tail end of my first term in the Clinical Mental Health Counseling program at Prescott College.
In the fourth week of the Corporeal Writer’s workshop, where I’m writing into the guts and bones and cells. One of my very favorite people, Michael Nagle, is in the workshop as well. if you’re looking to be catapulted, read Michael’s The Minotaur.
Periphery sensory workshops are happening in December and January.
And in case you need a wellness nudge, here is a Periphery Prompt for those who need a little more idleness in their lives:
After sleeping, day or night, lie there.
Try not to rush to get up.
Try not to grab onto the noise, the stuff, the lists, the production, the reactions, the choking churn.
Lie there.
Wherever there is.
On a couch, in a bed, on a rug, on a tuft.
Lie there.
Absorb your horizontal body.
Rest your eyes on a corner, a window, a knob, a balled-up sock.
Listen to the whirl of a heater, a cat’s purr, the rev of a distant engine, all those birds.
Behold.
A radical nothingness.
Morning Sky - Felicity Fenton
