Writing
The Box
The chime rings once. Only once. That’s all you need. There is no other incentive required to get down to business. It sounds off. You get up. Splash water on your face. Your thoughts linger on the maroon comforter that makes your bed so cozy. You stand in front of a coffee maker. It’s not…
Read MoreI miss
I missThe effort and ritual Of building a fireTo rest in front of and read I missThe trails only a step away,A dark-brown carpet of spiky chestnuts I missSunshine, bright and green,Reflecting off the oak forest across the valley I missEasy morningsOf fried eggs and buttered toast with jamEnjoyed in silence at the wooden table I…
Read MoreWhat Matters Most
September 7, 2017, is my dad’s 77th birthday. He wanted to make it this far, but he didn’t. My dad died on April 10th. My dad is dead. Words hard to write. Missing someone I can never see again is a lonely ache in my chest. Thinking of him brings an image of him to…
Read MoreDating
Seated in the shade of a lone tree on a mountain meadow, I watch as dozens of dragonflies dot the landscape. Their miniscule forms put into perspective the tall, dry grasses and distant green ridgelines disappearing into blue. I am patiently resting while blissfully letting my hot, sweaty head ease its pulsing, paying close attention…
Read MoreThistles III
Thistles grow from His heart Protective arms Enwrap the Thorn he loves Light dawns within Purple petals Thin and delicate Surrounded by green Enforcements Hiding pocket knives In mauve shadows The sun’s bright warmth Glows from her center And meets his intensity His full expression Of sadness and Memories of shared joy Out of wastelands…
Read MoreIndigo Bunting
Leaf blowers, tree cutters buzz distantly Four hundred Indigo Buntings Fly and sit and sing Their thoughts carry them From branch to wire to stream, As they ponder color, leaves, and revel In water playfully When shaded skies enwrap the world, they snuggle Warm hearts thrumming rhythmically Elements of bones and beaks, of air and…
Read MoreThe one who remains standing
“I Am Not I” By Juan Ramón Jiménez Translated by Robert Bly I am not I. I am this one walking beside me whom I do not see, whom at times I manage to visit, and whom at other times I forget; who remains calm and silent while I talk, and forgives, gently, when I…
Read MoreSpring day
This is just my first post. A blueberry smoothie in a handmade mug by artist Alissa Clark. Sitting outside in the sun on a hope-filled, spring morning.
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