Also found while wandering through San Francisco: a depiction of the cycle of the moon over the entrance to the Embarcadero BART and Muni station.

I worked at Embarcadero Center for four years in the early 1990s, and walked down these stairs every weekday. I’ve entered the station countless other times, on errands or social occasions. I’d never noticed the moons until this years.

It probably wasn’t intended as a lunar representation when it was created, but now that I’ve thought of it that way, I see it every time I walk by.

Tricks up its Sleeves
~ Dorothy Walters

I think I lost sight of myself

years ago, when something happened
and I became someone other than what I was.

This new personage and I
are still getting acquainted.
It arrives with tricks up its flowing sleeves,
granting me new abilities,
unaccustomed gifts.

Now I can feel
beyond the range of feeling,
fall into fountains of rapture,
know more than
I can understand.

I do not know where all this
is taking me.

I no longer ask,
no longer care.

Wandering through the crowd outside the Ferry Building in San Francisco recently, I scanned the various crafts booths as I walked. Mostly the usual items—jewelry, artwork, clothing, and ceramics. And then—ooh, shiny!—a table with a long glass case containing many knives. So of course I had to stop to look!

The artisan is Duckhee Lee of DJ Craft. He has a few examples of the knives on his website, but since each is unique, it’s best to see them in person. He will send you photos of the current stock if you don’t happen to be in San Francisco. He also has an Instagram account: djcraft51.

Here are a few of the lovely items that called to me across the sidewalk:

Obsidian Knives

We had a wonderful conversation, in which Duckhee explained the process of flintknapping, which is making blades from stone. Obsidian is volcanic rock, sometimes called volcanic glass. The handles are made of wood or antler (sustainably gathered), and wrapped with leather. He also makes pendants (you can see a couple in the photo).

This is the one that called to me—it made me think of Angrboda:

Obsidian Knife for Angrboda

As I examined it, Duckhee explained that it was meant to skin animals. Definitely an Angrboda thing. So, it came home with me, and now adorns my Angrboda altar:

Angrboda Altar

The Powwow at the End of the World
~ Sherman Alexie

I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall
after an Indian woman puts her shoulder to the Grand Coulee Dam
and topples it. I am told by many of you that I must forgive
and so I shall after the floodwaters burst each successive dam
downriver from the Grand Coulee. I am told by many of you
that I must forgive and so I shall after the floodwaters find
their way to the mouth of the Columbia River as it enters the Pacific
and causes all of it to rise. I am told by many of you that I must forgive
and so I shall after the first drop of floodwater is swallowed by that salmon
waiting in the Pacific. I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall
after that salmon swims upstream, through the mouth of the Columbia
and then past the flooded cities, broken dams and abandoned reactors
of Hanford. I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall
after that salmon swims through the mouth of the Spokane River
as it meets the Columbia, then upstream, until it arrives
in the shallows of a secret bay on the reservation where I wait alone.
I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall after
that salmon leaps into the night air above the water, throws
a lightning bolt at the brush near my feet, and starts the fire
which will lead all of the lost Indians home. I am told
by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall
after we Indians have gathered around the fire with that salmon
who has three stories it must tell before sunrise: one story will teach us
how to pray; another story will make us laugh for hours;
the third story will give us reason to dance. I am told by many
of you that I must forgive and so I shall when I am dancing
with my tribe during the powwow at the end of the world.

The Artist
~ Amy Lowell

Why do you subdue yourself in golds and purples?
Why do you dim yourself with folded silks?
Do you not see that I can buy brocades in any draper’s shop,
And that I am choked in the twilight of all these colors.
How pale you would be, and startling—
How quiet;
But your curves would spring upward
Like a clear jet of flung water,
You would quiver like a shot-up spray of water,
You would waver, and relapse, and tremble.
And I too should tremble,
Watching.

Murex-dyes and tinsel—
And yet I think I could bear your beauty unshaded.