Mink, a letter to...

well this is no poetry and no work of fine literature but these letters to mink are an extension of the on going muskrat theme and methodology of my madness and exploration of the fine line between autobiography and fiction.  As the line between fiction and life blur, details and emotions give way to the story.  As one of my favorite ethnographer's Kathleen Stewart observed in her book A Space By the Side of the Road, its the telling or rather the act of re-telling that creates our truths.  Truth lies within the story and within the teller/re-teller.  Maybe i will further elaborate on this at a later date.  Here is my latest letter.  god speed lil animals...

Dear Mink-

Night has settled in nicely and a cold front is blowing in. They say rain turning to snow over night.  That’s just fine with this old Muskrat.  The edges of the gardeners plastic is weighed down well with cinder blocks and the spinach is well watered and almost a weeks worth of nights in the ground.  The cold frame is a well supported contraption of two by fours, pvc piping and rebar forming the skeleton.  Pansies and Violas are nestled in their pots for the hardy re-visitation of New Mexico February weather.  Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings are crackling over the record player, old 45’s I found at Charley’s Records.  It is quiet this year for Valentine’s and I am oddly content.  I have a Tupperware container full of buttermilk biscuits for the morning and white chocolate macadamia nut cookies for dipping in tea as I settle in for the night.

God speed lil animals, solidarity forever, ride free, live free and for the love of sanity fall in love with someone and tell them....