A visual artist, she hunts and often finds

things which she can see as art as the two

of them and their Chocolate Lab jog the

trails. This particular trail is open for hunt-

ing during certain months so they stay away

afraid a hunter will mistake their big dog

for a wild animal to be shot with an arrow

or bullet. She bends down and picks up a

dry bone along a trail in one of these hunt-

ing areas. It is clean of flesh, sinew, liga-

ments, tendons –a small femur that when

whittled could be a native American musical

instrument telling soulful, mournful stories.

Had the hunter hit its prey but not cleanly

and it crawled or ran or hopped away to die

another day? The leg which could have been

whittled into a whistle at another time to

tell another story became that upon which

everything else hung in her new sculpture

which could have been anything the behold-

er wanted to see. A clean bone alone became

once again the supporting structure of that

which for now stands on the mantle ready

to leap and run once again and avoid the

hunter’s aim.