It is time for bed, It is time for rest. Everything strives south, goes down, lets loose. We all have gone to seed Planting our hopes for next year into their prepared beds No more roses only the ripe hips now Now the feast from the harvest Now the felling, the falling, the cutting of expectation as we curl in tighter as we dig in deeper we hold tightly to ourselves in the wake of the coming winter we long to close our eyes as the sun sets ever lower in the sky
Hello, folks! Long time, no post. I hope everyone has been having a nice summer. I’ve been quite busy myself, hence my silence for the past couple of months. It’s hard to imagine that summer will soon be over. With that being said, fall will soon be here. What do you associate with this season? I imagine that these days, people would mention how there is pumpkin spice-flavored everything during autumn months. Though, there is another key trait that reminds people of fall: falling leaves!
We here who are managing the blog, Ambassadors, and other Path with Art players have decided to have a go at offering regular (perhaps seasonal?) themes to help inspire all of you fine folks and help generate some content for this blog. So, what does the former paragraph have anything to do with this? Well, the theme, courtesy of Bean Fairbanks, for this period is Falling Leaves.
In regards to this theme (and any future themes), you can submit any creative work to this blog relating to it, as long as the content adheres to the blog’s guidelines. For instance:
If you are a plein air painter or illustrator, you might want to share with us a painting or drawing that you did of the trees changing colors and dropping your leaves.
Or perhaps you like to collect dead leaves so that you can make collages, wreaths, or other crafts with them.
Maybe seeing the leaves in the breeze has inspired you to write a poem, some prose, or a short story about them.
Perhaps you want to make a simple mini-documentary of the changing foliage.
Or maybe you have been working on a podcast, and the topic of discussion pertains as to why deciduous trees drop their leaves.
The possibilities are endless (especially considering that you can be literal or unliteral as you want to be)! If you have any ideas, please send them our way. If you are uncertain as to go about this, refer to the submissions tab at the top of this page or e-mail us editors at firstname.lastname@example.org, and if need be, we can aid you in this process.
Also, keep in mind that you are not limited or obligated to follow any themes that we present to you. You can submit material that is unrelated to the current theme at any time. We are happy to receive contributions of all types, as we want Path with Art participants of all types to be contributors to this blog.
So, to reiterate, the theme for fall 2022 for content to submit to the blog is falling leaves.
(By the way, if you have any ideas for future themes, feel free to share those with the editors, too!)
Pallet is a social purpose company on a mission to build equal opportunity access to housing and employment. Elevating the voices of people with lived experience with homelessness, recovery, and incarceration is integral to Pallet’s mission. In addition to telling the personal stories of their team and people living in Pallet shelter villages, they aim to raise the voices of system-impacted and marginalized persons everywhere.
We live in tent cities behind nylon walls, huddled in wool blankets in doorways of neglect. We live in secured high-rises casting shadows below, houses flooded with desire, homes gated in fear. We live with slumlords and in public housing too. We live alone in our minds, wandering along pathways edged by open chains.
We work for corporate greed, We dumpster dive for food, We work for non-profits to build a better world, We ask for spare change, sometimes shoot-up to heal a gaping wound. We are honest laborers, the shrunken middle class, We do not ask for handouts, but will reach for a helping hand.
We race upstairs chasing freedom and we lounge on city streets, We stand in long lines at food banks, waiting for leftovers we can’t afford, We walk in parks and shop behind gilded walls. Sometimes we steal in the night, while white collars take in the light to line their coffers gold.
Sometimes life feels darker than the backside of the moon; we watch her catch her breath as she rushes to soften the edges of what we call urban blight. Sometimes we feel the ecstasy of unity, especially on nights like tonight.
We are a city on shifting tectonic plates, frayed at the edges, clothed in attitudes of love and dismay. We are a city of others, separate and near. We are teachers and students alike, but webs twist around our minds, our lives, isolating us from those who look and think more different than we’d like.
We are all here, polarized by red and blue fear. We must break down the walls, Step out of the shadow of Them, Other, They. We must hold our sister’s gaze, grasp our brother’s hand. Link our minds to overcome judgments about what we think is right.
We are all here; the me in them. The drum beat of our city, the heartbeat of Seattle, the energy that makes our diversity vibrate with rhythm that unites.