Karinaland River

  “Your hair will be the best –  t he silver lining for my nest." As a child I spend time day dreaming of curling up in birds’ nests. But never could I have imagined that this might include being cradled in a soft bed of my own silver hair, expertly woven by thrushes. These flirtatious unassuming birds are collecting my fine hairs – which have turned completely white in the past couple of decades. They  become high quality material for their nests’  silver lining  creating an extra soft bed for eggs and babies. Since discovering this twenty years ago, I have taken to brushing my hair outdoors, head upside down. Silver hair floating away in the breeze…  The desire to be of use, to be recycled...   Found another nest with my hair recently as I was pruning in jasmine jungle   Nest Weaver     I dream among oak, apple, plum and cedar   Leaves, grasses, seeds and rock   The damsel thrush is gently pecking   Repeated motion – sti...

  Mural Painting in Action   Much behind-the-scenes action for this Mural addition: for months I have been researching people and their cases, collecting numbers of years in prison, dates of release and exoneration. Arranging them for the mural to give the viewer a tiny glimpse into the immensity of LIVES STOLEN . Each freed person becomes a momentous story of injustice bending toward some "form of justice” – even though  being freed after 44 years of sitting innocently in prison   still remains plainly unjust and utterly sad.  The huge number of wrongful convictions in America highlights racism as part of the system’s dysfunction.  I am reading story after story, each with many details about the tragic outcomes of flawed judicial process, outrageous unlawful witness tampering, unsuccessful pressuring for guilty pleas,  and  more. Assumption of Guilt   is incredibly rampant concerning  African Americans. After four hours of this, I am s...

  Quince Thieves   Like the years before, this spring about thirty or more Quince fruit started growing on my small tree. I am excited as they miraculously emerge out of the blossoms, seeing myself already making quince jam, my favorite. Every day I inspect them with adoration. The fruit are beautifully sculptured as they ripen slowly from their deep green towards yellow. Then one morning – suddenly all will be gone. No traces left. Each year this stuns me into shock and disbelief. Again…. Obviously, I am not a seasoned farmer :)      But a few quinces are left on the tree to fully ripen. This year only two. Whoever steals them has mercy on me. Perhaps raccoon  thieves feasting? No traces left… Still, I can make a small compote from these gems. They are furry and already deepened into a golden yellow. Early this year, but still a bit longer till harvest. Quince is an ancient fruit and my ancient heart starts glowing and growing when lightly touching the fru...

A Day like this is Precious What a gorgeous sunny Saturday! Not too hot, not too cold ­– not one of those windy foggy days which are common in the San Francisco Bay Area's often “wintery” summer months. A velvety feeling of  true  summer slowly settles into my limbs, relaxing my skin and expanding my soul as I water the back patio.    Childhood memories emerge: exhilarated roaming in wheat, barley, and oat fields further away from home, time stretching long and wide, rushed last-minute returns for dinner… Here in California, the lovely pink naked ladies are out everywhere and we know it is August...   Naked Ladies' Faces Then down at the garage doors, I am intently drawing lines and sketching  STOLEN LIVES – innocent but imprisoned – few are freed and exonerated –­ LIVES STOLEN  with a soft pencil onto the next panel. Across the street, I hear a car parking, its door opens and closes, and I turn. To my surprise a woman rushes straight towards me. I don...

  Hawk Stories The other morning, breathing with my mother oak,  I arch my spine far backwards with arms stretched up, gazing into the canopy. Maybe twenty feet above me on one of the live oak’s sturdy bare branches, I spot a fuzzy big ball moving – wow, what is that? A big owl? (I am a bit shortsighted, but don’t wear glasses). Carefully walking up the stairs to get a better look, I recognize a bird of prey – a hawk. A couple of blue jays try to scare him away, screeching loudly, in vain. Hawk and me lock eyes for long moments. (What kind is it? Not a red-tailed hawk.) He continues to preen his plumage, fluffing up even more, and when shaking his expanded body, a cloud of small white feathers is released, drifting upwards on the light breeze. We spend maybe ten minutes eyeing each other. I marvel how camouflaged he is up there, not far from me, perched so well. At last, he flies off low, beating his beautifully marked wings fast, with whoosh-whoosh-whoosh melody….   Red-...

  Today’s entry in honor of an amazing man:   Albert Woodfox   February 19, 1947 – August 4, 2022     Albert Woodfox, who was held in solitary confinement longer than any prisoner in U.S. history, has died at the age of 75 due to complications tied to COVID-19. The former Black Panther and political prisoner won his freedom six years ago after surviving nearly 44 years in solitary over a wrongful murder conviction of a prison guard. Fellow imprisoned Panthers Herman Wallace and Robert King were also falsely accused of prison murders, and they collectively became known as the Angola 3. Democracy Now! interviewed Albert Woodfox in his first live TV interview just three days after his 2016 release, and multiple times afterward. “I’m just trying to learn how to be free,” Woodfox said. “I’ve been locked up so long in a prison within a prison.” Woodfox went on to write his memoir, “Solitary,” and continued to fight for prison reform after his release.   Here...

Guardian of my Entrance Door For a few weeks now, my Fairy Wand plant has been luxuriously spreading out her many arms adorned with magenta bells .   This year further and wider than ever, taking over, guarding the entrance to the patio and to my front door in turquoise. Visitors exclaim: wow, who is this? Her being is generous in nature, flamboyant, delightful, playful, magical. Bees of all kind are extremely attracted to her, buzzing busily in and out of those bells all day.     The other day, I sit at my threshold under Fairy Wand’s arches, when a hummingbird approaches, checking me out close-up, four inches from my face, and then sits on one of Fairy Wand’s arms three feet away, resting her tiny body, gently bouncing in the breeze on the arched thin stalk… Time is disappearing… Hummingbird, Wind, Fairy Wand and me, we are breathing in unison, embraced in a cosmic song… with this gesture we become the world, inhabiting each other, our souls intermingle in this shimmeri...