These moments of suspended unknowing are grounded as well as up-gazing. I think, who will know more than me in this moment? And then I sit and look at the trees While I look, I hear things the frogs and crickets, the birds singing lullabies and the brush of the wind. Oh yes, I remember… Continue reading Illumination
Tag: hope
Welcome it
I cannot say what to do for sure, but when joy in any form comes, welcome it. The pink on the tree, the laughter of your brother, the afternoon bath, the Billie Holiday song that is most needed, clean hair, clean sheets, having someone (somewhere) who makes you giggle while trying to be as quiet… Continue reading Welcome it
Answering the un-answerable
In New York in April, over the sound of conversations and loud music Therese leaned into me and said: "You need to write a blog so people can experience your writing, life is hard and your words are so lush. I think underneath it all, that is what everyone is striving for-a lushness in their… Continue reading Answering the un-answerable
Hopeful with grace
I was never an incredibly strong ballerina, but I loved it. It was the moments in my life when I felt strong as well as delicate, a perfect balance of athleticism and art, masculine and feminine. It has always been just want I needed no matter where I was during my day. I do notice… Continue reading Hopeful with grace
The Search
I go peeking for you all over you, man I don't know yet. I try and search out your characteristics like a dog would sniff out a fox. I look into the eyes of baristas and check out clerks asking the un-ask-able question: Is it you? It isn't. I know you will show when I… Continue reading The Search
swear not by the moon
When the clock struck midnight on New Years, I was standing on the freezing beach in Delaware under the brightest moon glowing on the bundled faces of Mom and Dad, Mackenzie, Rickie, Kyle and Kelly. And of course, Liam the black lab. I looked up at the stars and out at the darkness of the… Continue reading swear not by the moon
Re-finding Twelve
I recently read Susan Branch's novel "Martha's Vineyard, Isle of Dreams" and in it she describes a delicious morning of reading in bed, in the perfect breezy weather, with her cat curled on her legs in her dreamy bedroom. Dealing with major heartache and upheaval; she was coming back to herself in small ways and… Continue reading Re-finding Twelve
Old joy, still joy; an ode
Dear Shabby-Chic-bedspread-that-I-love, I must first say thank you. There, that is a good way to start this. Thank you. This is a love letter. And love letters should always start with gratitude. Thank you for being the perfect shade of green. A green not to minty and not too leafy but somewhere in the middle.… Continue reading Old joy, still joy; an ode
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