Steve Smith

My first time writing in several years. A peculiar irony of my day and experience here in Angola.

A Picture

This morning
A sandhill crane
Stepped in front of my car
So close I could see its red cap
Where are my bird books?
Male or female

Yesterday I saw 3

Before I moved here
I'd never seen one

Now in the spring
Mating dances and songs
On the hills
Where they took off wheat last week

A few years ago
On a walk on the trail back to the sugar bush
I came upon
A skeleton
Sandhill
Curled in a ball
My guess a coyote kill

Inside the ribs
A snake had used it
As a shedding rub
One of those wonderful surprises in nature

I took a picture
Now lost in the cloud
But I can still see it in my head

I can walk
Exactly to the spot
And have several times
Searched

It's empty now

Dawn Burns

Where I Want to Be is Now
SwampFire 2023

I am a different person than when we started SwampFire fifteen years ago. I am the same person too, and more.

I am thinking about all the paths that have crossed mine at SwampFire over the years; I am thinking about how even when our paths cross, my journey remains my own.

I am returning to holding all things lightly, to letting go of control.

Where I want to be is Now. Not a place. Not even (but also always) SwampFire.

Now, ever changing.

Now, like how the breeze encircles me, like how the breeze catches up two black buzzards that could just as well be kites, only they have no strings.

Now, like the trees and the cool dark of the distant woods.

Now, like the sun on my shoulders, the heat on my back.

Even my half-deaf ears can hear the rushing wind, sounding like a bonfire catching, then blazing through the night’s first hour before settling into slow burn and flickering coals.

I want to feel it all—rush of air, burn of fire, embrace of water, and sturdiness of earth.

Sitting in the field, I see that what was grown is gone. Only stubble and chaff remain of the wheat crop. Grass and weeds grow green between and within old rows.

The living and the dead all of one piece, but don't make too much meaning of it.

Maybe don't make any meaning of it at all.

Or make all the meaning I want—all the time, in every way, every possibility ever evolving in each moment.

Then, let go. Let everything go.

Be lifted by air, metamorphized through fire, submerged under water until you learn to swim through.

Then walk upon the earth until you give your body back.

 

 

Cait West

Even in the midst of a busy summer, I’m grateful for this moment of connection and community.

 

 

Ilse Schweitzer

My first SwampFire, and getting back into writing feels like breaking through, relearning, scary, exhilarating, necessary. Thank you all!

 

 

 

 

 

Megan Frazier

What others think of me is none of my business.

 

 

 

 

 

Andrea Baldwin

I went to a writers retreat this weekend, and instead of being filled with words, I was filled with pain, and inevitably, trauma.

Weirdly specific.

Stuff I'd been sure I was done with, things I'd done a lot of work on. 

Physical and mental health isn't always a straight path forward, but I was able to take this experience and find beauty in it. 

I saw a new shade of red for the first time.
I was filled with other people's words.
I belly laughed at least once.
I was embraced with "you're ok."

Life can be so many things all at once. Sometimes the house of cards has to fall so you can work on rebuilding something stronger.

Sometimes we have to let ourselves fall apart. Stop to sniff the apples, even if everyone thinks you are weird. Be a bit gruff and advocate for yourself. Fall apart some more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jan Bechtel

A day to do nothing
to be nothing
But the seeing eye
the sensing skin
“Rest is resistance”

Entering into drawing
letting the wheat stalk
flow onto the page

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jenni Repka

It has been nice to be back. Having a moment to read and practice my art without feeling a need to rush. Thank you for keeping SwampFire alive!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sarah Carson

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bex Miller

SwampFire is always about conversation for me. There is, inevitably, at least one conversation of significance, one that needed to be. I love embracing that truth because it makes me thankful for this space.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eva English

Always a place for creativity and feedback from creatives. Breaking me out of my shell, one year at a time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rachel Baker

This year I feel a sense of acceptance in myself and my creativity, not feeling a need to justify my “craft.” SwampFire is always an accepting and open place (welcoming), and it’s nice to exist in that space wholeheartedly, even if for just a day or a weekend at a time. The conversations and the readings are always inspiring and leave me energized to keep doing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mary Catherine Harper

A haiku for the occasion:

Crawl inside a leaf
to float down a nervure stream.
Swing from a firefly.