In the Biesboschen
Four hundred begettings ago,
Hunting, fishing and gathering
We people followed the narrow under-tree paths
of deer and swine.

Otter-Wijf might then have been my name.
Hung with bones, herbs and a wisert’s skin
I walked and walked and walked the cool under-tree paths
Of our home range.

— — — —

With this painting and poem I’ve tried to manifest a dream in which I had the clearest sensation that I walked through sand–making those little squeaks–in an ancient Dutch setting. Otter-wijf was my name and I wore a leather shoulder bag with dried herbs in it, and a leather wrap about my shoulders.

It was the uncanniest thing when I woke, no longer wearing the wrap or the bag when only seconds before they felt as real, as the bed-sheets a few seconds later.