Life

  • Feathers

    She fled her body, to where the poets fly. Her heart lived in that place, an angel by night light. There were feathers on the wind of day, and music, like a lovers kiss, drifting. Oh, how she loved, there.… Continue reading

  • The Quiet

    The quiet has come upon me, and so I have to write. It’s a strange quiet, a wonderful one, however mixed with a soft melancholy. It’s been with me, on and off, for as long as I can remember, and… Continue reading

  • The Orchard

    As I sit quietly, alone, with the birds as my friends, I watch the orchard sway with the breeze and I ask myself: Is it the orchard, alone, I see? Or has the orchard become the miraculous creation of the… Continue reading

  • They Know Not What They Do

    Why, when the road is so beautiful, (dappled sun on white) do these lashing tongues slice my delicate sky, so? I shall find a cave, as promised. A dear and perfect home to soothe. And I shall cherish the broken,… Continue reading

  • Seasons

    And when there is sun such as this, and when there is beautiful drift and swaying trees, I see life as it is and I know it is good. For, the mind, I know tells stories. And yet perfect truth… Continue reading

  • Careless Life

    Do not touch this softness. I see you angrily tearing at her bones, leave her be. Dear sweet, peaceful girl. For she must rest, she is weary, must rest, she has been battered and bruised by the tentacles of careless,… Continue reading

  • Self Forgiveness

    They abused their horses; yelled at them, hit them, spat daggers of anger at them, daily. I was the thirteen year old victim of school bullying at the time, so I smiled when the abusers smiled and I laughed when… Continue reading

  • The Art of Living Carefully and Beautifully

    I made the beds as if it might be the last time. I didn’t think, ‘Oh. Gosh. You know, I better take more care in making these beds, I might be gone by tomorrow morning.’ It wasn’t like that. I… Continue reading

  • The Rose

    Even the most darling rose is a work in progress. Be the rose. How beautiful that she will show you the way to freedom. Continue reading

  • Sweet Love Departed

    When there is, in this soft heart, a tear for sweet love departed, a tender wave of grief upon the shore; where do these small hands go? How do I hold and kiss and whisper each precious ache into wholeness,… Continue reading