January 2022

another image to capture cold

to feel stillness and starkness

to know home isn't a place 

but maybe a time in our lives 

when we need quiet and beauty

it takes time to witness an icicle 

to wonder which drop will hold on

my hand against the windowpane

comes away cold with laced lines

my life line is curved and longer 

on one hand

it's the one I reach for you with

x

o

 

December arrives in all her frosty glory hanging lace prayer shawls from trees & powerlines & the wonder & beauty teach you to shut the mouth & open the heart. The ground crunches to remind she is being walked upon. You are being held. She allows diamonds on your eyelashes & the tiny hairs in the nose you almost forgot you had. Don't Forget, she reminds: These things make the will of your life.  

These are your things: Cold feet. Chapped hands in wool mittens. Slower walks. Darkness. 

Do not let them go unnoticed. Cherish how she silently covers the earth & you with sparkles. 

xo

 Soul of a Tree

Heartwood

Nothing can be healed 

until you lean into it. 

The woods know 

the secret, 

you see it often; 

 quiet wisdom, 

nakedness, 

 the trust of falling.

 

 xo

October 2021

 

More than More

stands and ropes

forever precious 

memories of her

 teeth across 

luster & shine

salt and rain

licking lips 

placing jewels

 over her head

eyes sparkling

then my turn

xo

 

September 2021

light shifts with a page turn
there: summer & now we are here
shorter days - longer shadows
searching for things that hang on
soon it will be gold leaves

now: whatever is within reach

our hearts are blown glass

hanging from taunt strings

xo

 

August 2021

Several weeks ago I witnessed largeness 

me a shadow of self miles from home 

if such a place exists I don't know it

 here or soon or a thing from before

I remember my mother-in-law as one

who smelled of raspberries & radishes

& the earth she plucked them from

dark soil on the knees of her denim capris

her lip-smack as she took the first taste

her smile when something was gone

emptied: the satisfaction she shared

her gingham blouse thread worn & clean

contentment she wore like a precious jewel

a sit on the front porch in the wicker rocker

the boards under her feet smooth and shiny

like her and what she left behind

xo

 

July 2021

hot & humid

 kneehigh corn : gathered bales : painted porch : bolted greens  

rains all night : daylight long

and before you or I know it

snow swirls & ice crystals touch the very windows we look out from & to

and we'll want this heat

the longest hours

sun on skin

xo

June 2021

I have shared the above photograph in the past of the lilacs 

but this is June and if only...we could hold this will to open.

Again, from Mary Oliver, "Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable."

June brings us long days, sultry evenings, blasts of thunder, and wild lightning. 

Fireflies and mosquitoes. Brilliant and pesky. The both/and of our precious lives.

What will be left behind? Not the lost hat, the missing keys. 

But what will our loved ones carry when we are gone?

xo

 

 

MAY 2021

 

MAY 2021

And so flowers arrive; some pushing through wet earth

others driven in a car handed off in a hefty glass vase

gifts of what's to come

I remind myself to look closely 

to learn what they are made of

I was reminded a few days ago 

that we do not live in our bodies

our bodies live within us

this took me to my knees

I planted peas and spinach 

the same day

the same bent knees

Reminded: It's the same HOLY.

xo

 

April 2021

Creek, it is a creek?

stream, brook, runlet 

more than a trickle 

sounds of spring 

under dead leaves: a push

rindle, runnel, rill, rivulet

an awakening

tributary

time

xo

 

& then the sun 

going sideways & inside me

stopping me: calling me witness

naming me present 

though this gift a thing 

seen many times before

each one new: promised 

almost but not to be taken 

as always or forever

&

when I am gone, the sun 

will carry on

others will slow: name it beauty

wonder who was first 

who will be the last

xo

 

CENTERING

Centering is what I am aspiring and inspiring towards.

My dad died last month. 

It's hard to think, say, write, feel these words.

This morning I woke crying. 

How is this possible I ask?

 But no one hears me. 

Larry, asleep beside me & Charlie B, good dog, snoozes at our feet.

I'm painting mandalas on rocks found at the beach, 

other rocks I throw in the water just to see what happens.

I've taken my first pottery class. 

I walk in circles.

I am untethered, and though there would be a time this would be divine,

it isn't right now. I'm floating, but not on my back, not like he taught me.

xo

 NEW YEAR 2021

And so the new year begins
and though we've each held 

tight to much angst in 2020 

let's embrace the kind ways

we are touched & cared for 

the feelings of great sorrow

but so too the JOY moving

& touching us each deeply

 

the trees teach us how to be

trusting each storm will keep

 us deeply rooted and upright

reaching towards a heaven we know little of  

the moon, sun, and stars: dreams of peace

xo