2010 Altar, by Ms. Graveyard Dirt 2010; a year of bones, a year of death, a year of green and wheat, a year of animals, a year of roadkill, a year of wild mushrooms and berries, a year of hedges, a year of forests, and a year of graveyards and standing stones. 2010 was the year my land reached out to me, initiating an intense period of acceptance which I clutched in my tight-fisted hands as if it was the only meaningful thing in the entire motherfucking world. So how the fuck do you gratefully wave good-bye to a year that’s given you so goddamn much? You deconstruct it, piece by piece, gift by gift, until you’re left with the raw basics that built it. With bones and seeds and leaves and musty, fall-scented fungi I created and layered an altar of thanksgiving, working on the tangible hymn up until the last few minutes of the 31st. (<- Something better’ve duly noted that I worked to the very fucking end, OR ELSE.) “2010,” my voice cracked, overcome with emotion. Italics didn’t say anything, but he draped an arm across my body in comforting agreement. And we silently stood, side-by-side, before our altar of adventures, trials, victories, failures and achievements as husband and wife, king and queen, god and goddess and - my personal favorite - devoted shepherd and loving (even if somewhat willful) goat. READ MORE @ GRAVEYARD DIRT »

2010 Altar, by Ms. Graveyard Dirt

2010; a year of bones, a year of death, a year of green and wheat, a year of animals, a year of roadkill, a year of wild mushrooms and berries, a year of hedges, a year of forests, and a year of graveyards and standing stones. 2010 was the year my land reached out to me, initiating an intense period of acceptance which I clutched in my tight-fisted hands as if it was the only meaningful thing in the entire motherfucking world.

So how the fuck do you gratefully wave good-bye to a year that’s given you so goddamn much? You deconstruct it, piece by piece, gift by gift, until you’re left with the raw basics that built it. With bones and seeds and leaves and musty, fall-scented fungi I created and layered an altar of thanksgiving, working on the tangible hymn up until the last few minutes of the 31st. (<- Something better’ve duly noted that I worked to the very fucking end, OR ELSE.)

“2010,” my voice cracked, overcome with emotion. Italics didn’t say anything, but he draped an arm across my body in comforting agreement. And we silently stood, side-by-side, before our altar of adventures, trials, victories, failures and achievements as husband and wife, king and queen, god and goddess and - my personal favorite - devoted shepherd and loving (even if somewhat willful) goat.

READ MORE @ GRAVEYARD DIRT »

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