PUBLICATIONS FEATURING DEXTER'S WORK
ANTHOLOGY—My Favorite Things: Beauties are Joys Forever
THE MOSS BY STACEY DEXTER Photo:By Author
THE MOSS BY STACEY DEXTER Photo:By Author
Eighth in a series of books where art and literature come together to express, entertain, and feed the soul of the curious reader. Created by Jane E. Stahl and Susan Biebuyck. Cover Art: Hilary Swingle
Published by Studio B Fine Art Gallery, Boyertown, PA.
THE MOSS BY STACEY DEXTER Photo:By Author
THE MOSS BY STACEY DEXTER Photo:By Author
THE MOSS BY STACEY DEXTER Photo:By Author
I lay on my back across the warm settled moss, its cushion both prickly and soft. It covers an enormous boulder, stretched over it like a velvet linen cloak. The rocks’ uneven, pointy edges nudge into my spine through the moss, into my sweatshirt, yet I am comfortable, soaking up the October sunshine, my chest filling and simmering with heat.
My head is even with the ground, my hair becoming damp from the mornings’ leftover dew. Black-brown leaves long past their prime are scrambled by a pushy wind. Crisp and dry, they are spread out over the rubble of the forest floor with mere inches between them—like scattered sunbathers at the beach on a hot August Saturday.
They remind me of my mistakes; too numerous, too far flung and out in the open, to collect. They are everywhere. But the moss; it effortlessly tumbles and tucks itself into each crack and crevice, segments stashed away, deep inside the rocks. I struggle to find a mysterious passage to hide my past, into some black tomb, that has no memory.
There is a fragrance in the breeze, the residue clean and unscathed. I’d like my life to be clean and unscathed, plump with newness and smooth edges. The ancient rocks, so much older than me, are more resilient, yet I feel older, not younger—crumbling and weak.
The invasive moss and the jagged rocks are comforting. Nothing here is spotless, perfect, or flawless. Me and my broken parts mix well with the orphaned leaves and the busted sticks, the uneven shades of dirt and the peeling branches. I want this life, peaceful and consistent. An inherent, deep rooted life. A neighborhood where I fit in.
The moss is silent. It multiplies with time, spreading its’ resilient, lush lichen upon the forest floor. It muffles the ground, stifling any sounds, almost tricking me into thinking that I am alone here. The thud from a falling pinecone, barely reaches my ears. It is quiet, lying on top of, and next to, the moss. My lips sealed with Chapstick, my breath weaves through my nose. No need to speak or explain. I am here in the stillness, in this moment, without fear.
Over time, the moss has been trodden upon by dogs and deer and meditative hikers; soaked and stung by bruising rainfall and left to suffocate under unforgiving layers of snow.
Yet, it thrives and is revived with the seasons. It lives on in spite of…
I too, have been trodden upon—but by careless mutts and predatory mortals; abandoned in puddles of slick, salty tears, and suffocated under layers of human harshness. Yet, my breathe returns and pushes through the cruelty, unraveling it like an old, wet woolen scarf, wrapped too tight around my head. I live on, in spite of…
But in the spring, the moss and I will welcome the new leaves; the stoic, steady boulders; the trill of robins and the April sun. I volunteer as tribute; decade after decade, stepping forward into this nurturing place, which provides me with a safeness I’m not used to. A gentle climate to exhale, feel consoled, and experience a revival—with my trusted and reliable Sister, the moss.
Anthology—Transforming moments: FInding Our Voice
THE MOSS BY STACEY DEXTER Photo:By Author
SIXTY: BY STACEY DEXTER IMAGE "METAMORPHOSIS" BY KRYSTA BERNHARDT
In this volume, writers share in poetry and prose, moments in their lives that changed them. Moments of regret or inspiration. Moments where a truth is revealed. Moments that remind them of what they value, the way they live, who they want to be, or the direction of their lives. Edited by Jane E. Stahl and Mish Murphy. Cover: Mish Murphy Published by Studio B Fine Art Gallery, Boyerstown, PA.
SIXTY: BY STACEY DEXTER IMAGE "METAMORPHOSIS" BY KRYSTA BERNHARDT
FEATURE~ "Honoring MARINE VETERAN ROBERT (BOB) WILLIAMS: AN ARTIST IN COMBAT & IN COMMUNITIES."
SIXTY: BY STACEY DEXTER IMAGE "METAMORPHOSIS" BY KRYSTA BERNHARDT
SIXTY
As I packed my car, my senses were heightened by the icy, cold silence of the predawn hour. It was a day after a snowstorm, one that had prevented me from leaving and driving west. I stood still for a moment, taking in the freezing Massachusetts air. Exhaling, my breath lay frozen in front of me like a ghost.
It was time. I was anxious to be on my way, my brain so much further ahead than my body.
I had moved many times in the five decades of my life, but never so far away, and usually not alone. I was feeling that my life depended on this move to the Southwest; the days of feeling comfortable in my hometown were over, my parents dead, my sixth decade looming. I was tired of feeling exposed, unable to have a peaceful day without running into a cranky memory.
I craved to be invisible, anonymous. I wanted to look like shit and not run into old flames, ex-coworkers, high school acquaintances, or my enormous extended family. The only escape was a physical one, a geographical one—and the Southwest was my destination.
I placed my home on the market, the home that I had spent eight years updating.
The house sold in five days.
There weren’t any goodbye parties. No big announcements to the world. No social media posts. Just long talks with my daughter and closest friends, assuring them that this was the right move for me.
It was time to leave behind the significant heartbreak; the disappointing jobs; the mistakes; the memories of betrayal and loss. It was time to make some difficult decisions—some uncomfortable and even scary decisions about the next few decades of my life. What did I want it to look like in ten years, in twenty?
Now settled into my new home, I feel a tranquility that had eluded me. The welcome, persistent sunshine and the dry desert air suit and lift me. The awe of the mountains have replaced the saltiness of the ocean. The New England winters behind me, my heart has finally jogged ahead of me into the Sixty. Sixty years to find my sanctuary. Sixty years to create peace.
Sixty years to become me.
FEATURE~ "Honoring MARINE VETERAN ROBERT (BOB) WILLIAMS: AN ARTIST IN COMBAT & IN COMMUNITIES."
FEATURE~ "Honoring MARINE VETERAN ROBERT (BOB) WILLIAMS: AN ARTIST IN COMBAT & IN COMMUNITIES."
FEATURE~ "Honoring MARINE VETERAN ROBERT (BOB) WILLIAMS: AN ARTIST IN COMBAT & IN COMMUNITIES."
Featured in the online publication,
The Boyertown Area Expressions
Pictured: Robert L. Williams.
Photo courtesy of the artist.
FEATURE~ "IN REMEMBRANCE: TRAUMATIC LOSS LEADS TO INSPIRING LEGACY."
FEATURE~ "Honoring MARINE VETERAN ROBERT (BOB) WILLIAMS: AN ARTIST IN COMBAT & IN COMMUNITIES."
FEATURE~ "Honoring MARINE VETERAN ROBERT (BOB) WILLIAMS: AN ARTIST IN COMBAT & IN COMMUNITIES."
Featured in the online publication,
The Boyertown Area Expressions
Pictured: Mother and Son Bear Fever bears. Photo courtesy of Bear Fever, Boyertown, PA.
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