Yes, I made these rings, and yes, I wore them through the whole harvest. Long live impracticality! Long live pretty!
Harvesting in the eucalyptus, I train my ears for geese. They sound to me like church bells, their wings the ropes pulleying on the wind. They fade on the breeze like the bells in my neighborhood after the noon chiming.
My church is the church of sky and wind and bird bells.
When the sermon is over, I return to the mess of green in my arms.