Tiny grasses

Maybe all the tiny grasses from the roadside in Kansas and Colorado.

The flowers you pressed in a book in California — they aren't for later.

They're for the glowing now. The now that refused to pick them later.

The stinging nettle is connected to the freshly dyed yarn. You released some of it in other states. Some of it lives here now, in the Amazon, in a home that feels cleaner than the one you left.

The plant remnants are like the strands of your own hair you keep. Oddly enough. And toss into the air wherever you are, because both of your parents said the birds would use them.

Water grass

Decent neighbors

I talked with a neighbor who pulled out of his driveway about 5 times. Then he came back in.

I noticed.

There is something about neighbors. Who know your comings and goings. Your friends out last summer. Your project, how did it go?

People who remember what changes have happened to your front door. People being decent, slightly-interested, right there.

The neighborhood scene is the ultimate anti-apocalypse.

Who else notices?

More from Kansas

Outside and inside

I have been obsessed with dye plants native to North America. I also want to weave with North American fibers.

I started looking for yucca by the side of the highway, after Liz, my Lawrence, Kansas-based fiber teacher, taught me how to scrape off the green and make cordage from what's underneath.

On the car ride out of town, my stepfather mentioned there is a large yucca plant in our backyard.

I had been looking for it out there, and there it was. In the garden at home.

There is also a snake plant sitting next to our fireplace, full of fiber. It came from West Africa and has never been outside. There are cosmos and hibiscus in the backyard, excellent for dyeing.

What is actually out there, is in fact, in here.

Needle grass found in Colby, Kansas. It’s terrible for both dyeing and weaving.