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The Felled Tree
Until last week, my kitchen window framed a decades-old maple tree in my neighbor’s back yard, a silent witness to life’s greening. Leafy branches fanned summer skies, shaded an apron-bed of red and...
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Sugar Maple Leaf
Sugar maple tree torches the mottled sky. Trickster winds nudge single leaf from its mooring. Like a gymnast, it sworls, down, down, down. Then sticks to the glistening pavement, its stem upright, its...
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Tattos on the Heart
It’s all about vulnerability, risking heart-openness, especially to those deemed less than, in our perception. We shrink back, giving credence to the implicit command in our culture to be safe at all...
View ArticleA Gift of Orchids
A ceramic vase of blush orchids still suns upon the worktable in my study. I often gaze at this flowering beauty while pausing for the precise word to enter my word processor. I also remember the giver...
View ArticleDream
At midnight I awoke with this dream: The Eyes of Isis has just been published and drawn rave reviews. I’m eager to buy my own copy. For the remainder of the night, sleep came in fits and starts, given...
View ArticleDream
At midnight, this dream startled me: A festive mood circulates among well-wishers, dressed to the nines, seated upon white folding chairs in a large clearing encircled by virgin pines. Beneath a...
View ArticleSunflowers
I was getting close—just around the corner. Three days had passed since last seeing them, alive with butterflies and inching toward the garage roof of a neighbor. Joy infused my steps with giggles as...
View ArticleSugar Maple Tree
Sugar maple tree torches the mottled sky. Trickster winds nudge a single leaf from its mooring. Like a gymnast, it sworls, down, down, down. Then sticks to the glistening pavement, its stem upright,...
View ArticleWinter Dreams
It is cold—very cold—and it is still winter. Somehow that matters little in my warm study when enveloped within Winter Dreams, the subtitle of Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 1 in G minor (1866) played by...
View ArticleTime
“Time unused and only endured still vanishes, as if time itself is starving, and each day is swallowed whole, leaving no crumbs, no memory, no trace at all”—So wrote Elisabeth Tova Bailey, author of...
View ArticleLilacs
Fifteen years ago this morning, humid and cloudy, Two Men and a Truck moved my belongings to my new home, a modest bungalow, ideal for its quiet and neighborly support. Outside my study window...
View ArticleSeeds
May, too, has its own snow, in the form of white seeded-fluff outside my study window; whispering breezes inch it along until lost in the grass or shrubs. Such transient beauty reminds me of long walks...
View ArticleDream
From a heavy sleep, I awoke at 7:30 A.M., with these stunning dreams: It is Sunday afternoon, visiting time in the hospital. Many relatives fill Mother’s room where she lies in bed, awake and animated....
View ArticleA Coaching Dream
At 9 A.M., I awoke with this coaching dream: Someone gave me a gift. I pull apart the tissue paper and discover a large folded rectangle of peach cloth, my favorite color. I shake it out. In my hands,...
View ArticleWe Should Be Well Prepared by Mary Oliver
A well-crafted poem is a world unto itself: each word crafted upon the anvil of precision, then blasting psychic space for the inexperienced. Such was my experience reflecting upon the poem, “We Should...
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