of course I forgot to post this here 😅 some of you may remember the video I did about a month ago observing that Frodo couldn’t have achieved his quest without Aragorn’s sword at his back and Sam’s box of Shire salt to buoy his spirits. defeating evil takes strength of all kinds.
after I made that video, I couldn’t stop thinking about the visual of salt and the sword. so I made it. Aragorn’s sword Andúril, in a swirl of many salts, with some athelas (which Sam knew as kingsfoil) for good measure. I put it on some stickers and mugs and shirts, and I’m donating 100% of the profits (as well as any additional donations you make at checkout) to @raleighcityfarm , who provides food to other local organizations that address food insecurity. I think Samwise Gamgee would like that.
link in bio! thank you to everyone who’s bought something so far 💚 I’m gonna try to add more designs as I get feedback and see what folks like the best. 🗡️🧂
the second catbird I’ve found dead in my yard in the last month. the first one, weeks ago, I didn’t take pictures of, though it will be seared into my memory forever. it was lying at the foot of the steps from my deck, by the bird feeder and the birdbath the catbirds in particular love to douse themselves in. I don’t know how it died. I don’t know if Star got it or a cat got it or what. but when I lifted its body, a small cluster of mulberries was still in its mouth. I gently pulled them out, but the beak was frozen open in perpetuity, permanently startled, permanently hungry. it felt wrong to take a picture. I laid it in a cluster of weeds and ivy by the driveway. I did not weep. these things happen.
half an hour ago, I opened the back door to let Star out, and she paused to sniff the body of another catbird. this one had clearly collided with the sliding glass door. I’ve been in the house all day. I didn’t hear it happen.
I cried and cried and cried and cried. I am still crying. this feels like my fault. I took its body into my front yard and tried to make it beautiful. I told it that I hope an animal scavenges it so that its death will help someone, will mean something. I stood there in my ancient disintegrating Birkenstocks and my ancient bloodstained garden gloves and I cried about everything I’ve wanted to cry about the last few weeks.
I threw away the gloves. they’ve cradled too many little bodies
I’m sorry, this is a lot. I just wanted some record of this little animal who died for its inattention, and whose small body is carrying all of my grief. sorry. I’m sorry
my poetry professor. my role model. my friend. fierce and formidable and kind. no one told me when she died; I found out by accident a few weeks ago. I was stupefied, and very angry.
I sought her out today, and tried to find the words to thank her, and couldn’t. that’s what poets are for. I’m not a poet. but Janice Moore Fuller was. she was.
almost exactly 20 years ago, a theater major and an English major got their (stand-in) diplomas, hugged their families and friends, and then threw all of their shit in a U-haul and drove two hours up the highway to a brand new townhouse in Raleigh. their romance didn’t last, but their friendship did, and always would.
next month, Loren and his tremendous wife and kiddo move home to his beloved Green Mountain State, beginning a new chapter of their lives and closing a very, very important one in mine. so today, one last time, as the class of 2026 walked the stage we crossed in 2006, we made our way back to Catawba College to see how much—and how little—has changed on the campus where we met, a thousand years and yesterday ago.
I would have passed right by this little blue-gray gnatcatcher (which I at first mistook for a young catbird) if Star hadn’t suddenly jerked her head away from an angry ball of white fuzz shouting at her from the leaves. on closer inspection, I could see one of its legs was badly injured—it looked to have been degloved—and I hustled Star the rest of the way home so I could call a wildlife rehabber for advice. I sent her some photos and went back to the park with a box just in case the little guy could be saved; he was right where I’d left him, with his worried mate piping tiny, furious invectives at me from a nearby tree. after reviewing the picture of his leg (which I’m not sharing here), the rehabber concluded that, unfortunately, it was likely that he also had internal damage that couldn’t be fixed. we decided the best thing to do would be to leave him in the company of his devoted companion while nature takes its course.
as I was getting ready to go, I noticed one long, gossamer gray hair—obviously a human hair—wrapped tightly around his leg, tethering him to the foliage in which he lay. this was, I assume, the cause of his degloving. this could have been a completely random hair shed organically outside, but it could also have been a consequence of some well-intentioned person leaving their discarded hair out for birds to nest with. please do not ever, ever discard human or pet hair outside. this is what can happen.
he’s not the first little bird with a sad story I’ve encountered this week, but I hope he’s the last for a while. farewell, little guy. you were a dinosaur to the last.
(and thank you, @mrsclawsnc1 , for your help and compassion on this gloomy Saturday afternoon ❤️🩹)
I wasn’t going to crosspost this here, because by the time it started picking up steam on tiktok and people were asking me to also share on IG, it felt like the moment had passed. but I just discovered that a BUNCH of my friends and mutuals were duped over here, and I can’t have that.
let this be a lesson to this man that the spiders are everywhere.
