local to local

Daily observations at or near Two Dot Spot, written by hand on the backs of postcards that record with ink and coffee a few minutes of the earth's orbit around the sun. The cards are physically mailed from Two Dot, Montana to those who have requested them...local to local. Ruth Marie Tomlinson


The girls are off for the day. They have bonded and sealed their pack tightly. For the moment, I am happy to be alone with my ink and paper.


Three of us in Two Dot as of last night, two still sleeping. Sara Ann arrived before nine embodying party energy. The quiet rural reverie may have turned a corner. Tesha, who has been carefully not ruffling a blade of grass is giggling and talking in a different pitch……


Broken toe.


I just got back from a bike ride with a deer scapula strapped to my package rack. Jessica was on my mind. I was ready to clean a bit, but thought to check my email first. There was Jessica’s email, the end, the beginning. I knew it had happened. Cindy died this morning at 8am. I would like to say I felt it then, but it was only on seeing Jessica in my inbox that I knew. Sitting in my studio, face stained with tears, I heard Tesha step outside and greet the yard rabbit who was sitting at the front door...death and life together.


Tesha has been hoping for wildlife. We drove into the Little Belts, and on the first long stretch through ranch land there was a perfectly fresh road kill, a white jack or prairie hare, Lepus Townsendii. Of course even we call it a rabbit, but it is not. It has longer ears, taller legs, is faster and not given to burrows, nesting above ground and born fully furred with eyes open. The hare lay perfectly in tact on its side, front legs primly crossed and eyes open in death as well as birth. Graveside comfort came to mind, “he looked to be at rest, so peaceful,” except for the barely visible barred teeth. Is it just the shape of the Hare’s mouth that shows the teeth, or might it be the beginning of a grimace of pain arrested in death.


I’m back…I’m stunned. Arriving around 9 last night, it was already getting dark. Shortly, a pretty good wind developed, wind with a presence…as if another person were here. I felt the need to assure Tesha, the visiting artist, that the schoolhouse is not haunted.