March 30, 2016

the way every day changes you, a little

Lately, I feel silent. Not blocked or repressed or even melancholy, just silent.

So I sit with the quiet—watching life race by—with the patience of a flower waiting for dawn. It is the year of listening, after all, the word that found me back in January, the word that hovers over my left shoulder wherever I go. Maybe it’s age or grief or that other word, grace. Maybe it’s acceptance. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Not the bone-tired version, the depleted one.

Maybe I’m tired of trying on hats and never finding one that fits. Which makes perfect sense, because I don’t look good in hats. Some people do. My sister does. My grandmother did. I do not. But that’s okay. I kind of like the wind in my hair.

The sun is shining this morning and I know that I will find a way to get outside and feel it on my face. My freckles are tired of hiding in the background. It’s the season of renewal and I am tired of winter’s layers. March, the ever-steady soldier, marches on… eyes forward, almost there, almost there. In just a day or two, all will be surrendered to April.

The grackles and blackbirds croak and beep at a sky not ready to embrace them. No leaves yet for camouflage, no deep pools of shade. Perhaps we’re all feeling just a bit overexposed.

I think of all the mornings just like this one and wonder at the dust they’ve collected. Even so, I choose to leave them undisturbed. It’s not time for spring cleaning, yet.

I always sing when I clean and lately, I feel silent.






March 25, 2016

blue on blue

with a tiny bit of sunlight

mixed in

for good measure


wishing you a weekend of blue skies and smiles




March 18, 2016

fighting grey with yellow

because sometimes you have to stand up

and reach for the light

even as the day dawns darkly

and sometimes what’s right

must grow through black soil

gathering strength and dreaming

of valor




March 14, 2016

tiny accomplishments in big lives
{and vice versa}

I spent two days this past week cutting back the outrageously overgrown yews in front of my house, a project that has needed to be done for years, a project with a small window of opportunity, one that I have missed more than once. It’s a messy job, a difficult job, a job for someone stronger and more flexible than I, but I was determined to get it done, now, in this year that is beginning to feel like a watershed one.

I am scratched and bruised and my back hurts, and my completed task revealed all the places on my house that now need repainting, but I can see the sky from my bed again. There is more light inside, and more light is always a good thing.

Inside, I have a new mess, boxes to tackle after my 89-year-old friend moved out of her home into a long-term care facility, gifts she handed down, pieces to cherish and find special homes for. I haven’t figured out yet what to do with everything, nor what to do with the cracks in my heart, but somehow chopping those bushes down was related. I needed to cut and saw and grunt and curse and accomplish something. Maybe I needed to be in control of one small thing for a few hours. Maybe I needed to let off some steam. Maybe I needed to let some things go.

I’ve come to understand that it all gets more complicated as life goes on, that peace will always be slipping through my fingers, that there will never be time for everything, that standing in my yard with the wind in my hair is the best that some weeks will offer.

I’ve come to understand that it’s not accomplishments that matter either, it’s the love behind them that counts.

I’ve come to understand that sometimes survival is a matter of cutting out the parts that block the sun, paring things down to the bone, making space for new growth.

The imperfections I’ve revealed aren’t what’s important. The blemishes matter less than the light.

Looking out, I can only see sky, and the rain washing everything clean.

Every day, I learn.

The wounds heal, the wind blows, we all grow.

Today, that’s what I know.




March 11, 2016

the effort of open

There are weeks that take you backward.

When moving through doors feels so final.

When opening feels like closing.

Endings and endings and endings.

Yes, there will be new beginnings,
but first, you must walk the gauntlet.

Forward is there, across the threshold.

But all this distance lies in between.

The shape of light and shadow defines everything.

The fragile scent of future fills the air.


Life goes on.





March 2, 2016

i reach for the light

that bleeds into darkness


veiled and filtered

but there

just the same




February 22, 2016

counting days with stars and scars

i think of silence as birdsong

the recognition that nature is held out by walls and in by skin

and we can only watch what happens

on a morning when sunlight





February 15, 2016

pink was never going to be


the color of love

except in the morning

against a sky


gold and promises





February 10, 2016

one corner of the spectrum

Some days I want to save the world.

Some days I want to save myself.

Some days I want to save everyone in between.

Today I will settle for the sky.

Tomorrow, we will see.




February 1, 2016

faking spring on february first

because this is sunshine turned into smile

cheap grocery store flowers bringing joy
in a way that never occurs in august

this clear blue sky and i


we hear robin song and bloom






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