Photoshop Elements

Seven Steps to Grace.

Basically, I got ps elements and so far, I've discovered the auto adjust or smart fix or whatever it is. It pretties things up for me in 1 click. Though it takes, like, 5 clicks to save and close the damn picture!

Do these not look like cute little grenades?

My House is the Red Earth.

So yeah, so far so good. I still wanna learn to make things glow from within like some photos I admire, not to name names. Really, I'd love a darkening border. And a lighted center. Yup. So that's next.

Edible Poetry.

Blogger, what is up with the formatting? Making me crazy!Oh, I also discovered a new poet to quote from. This one's too long for a post but it took away my breath. So read it, damn you!

Insomnia and the Seven Steps to Grace

BY JOY HARJO

At dawn the panther of the heavens peers over the edge of the world.   

She hears the stars gossip with the sun, sees the moon washing her lean   

darkness with water electrified by prayers. All over the world there are those   

who can't sleep, those who never awaken.   

My granddaughter sleeps on the breast of her mother with milk on   

her mouth. A fly contemplates the sweetness of lactose.

Her father is wrapped in the blanket of nightmares. For safety he   

approaches the red hills near Thoreau. They recognize him and sing for   

him.   

Her mother has business in the house of chaos. She is a prophet dis-   

guised as a young mother who is looking for a job. She appears at the   

door of my dreams and we put the house back together.   

Panther watches as human and animal souls are lifted to the heavens by   

rain clouds to partake of songs of beautiful thunder.   

Others are led by deer and antelope in the wistful hours to the vil-   

lages of their ancestors. There they eat cornmeal cooked with berries   

that stain their lips with purple while the tree of life flickers in the sun.   

It's October, though the season before dawn is always winter. On the   

city streets of this desert town lit by chemical yellow travelers   

search for home.   

Some have been drinking and intimate with strangers. Others are   

escapees from the night shift, sip lukewarm coffee, shift gears to the   

other side of darkness.   

One woman stops at a red light, turns over a worn tape to the last   

chorus of a whispery blues. She has decided to live another day.   

The stars take notice, as do the half-asleep flowers, prickly pear and   

chinaberry tree who drink exhaust into their roots, into the earth.   

She guns the light to home where her children are asleep and may   

never know she ever left. That their fate took a turn in the land of   

nightmares toward the sun may be untouchable knowledge.   

It is a sweet sound.   

The panther relative yawns and puts her head between her paws.   

She dreams of the house of panthers and the seven steps to grace.