Jun 4 2015

dew diligence

A sun-filled birdsong morning, windows open and purple flowers, light filtering into every shadow. June is such a busy-bee month, I have to remind myself to stop and smell the roses, literally. My first cup of tea in the garden at dawn is my meditation, my morning pages, my daily gratitude. I drink it down and always, wish for another.

I find myself in getting-stuff-done mode, as if finally my body and my mind have both come to life after winter’s lack of ambition. I am like a plant, a tree, a flower. I need the sun on my skin and the birds to sing me awake in order to grow.

I reach for the sky and it’s there, right there, at the tips of my fingers, day and night.

And it’s enough.

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May 23 2015

yin/yang

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in the style

of me

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May 5 2015

morning tea

My back door opens onto a little sort-of-sunken alcove (which is a bad thing when it rains a lot) and in spring it’s my favorite place to sit with my first cup of tea and watch the golden light wake up the flowers. This is my view this morning, daffodils and euphorbia and sunshine bright enough to be blinding. The birds are singing out in a concert of joy, and it’s hard to believe that just over a month ago, this very spot I’m looking at was buried beneath a five-foot mound of snow.

These are the days when it’s hardest to stay inside and work, my garden teasing me with new green, fresh promise, and the relief of sun on my skin. But there is work to be done, and that is life. Naughty kitten keeps coming to my window, asking me to come out and play, and I laugh and tell him no, even as I wish I could be him.

Already, I feel behind in my garden. Mother Nature always runs faster than I can and there is never a day when I don’t see ten things that need to be done. But no matter. The windows are open, the robins are busy, and the daffodils nod hello each time I walk by.

Good morning, I say. To all of it. The distractions and the worries and the work and all the broken bits of life that need fixing.

Good morning, here we are again.

It’s a beautiful thing.

 

 


Jan 3 2015

i always

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listen

to the mockingbird

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Jan 1 2015

and there it is…

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open

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just like that

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Nov 15 2014

perfect timing

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happens every so often

even in

an imperfect

life

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Oct 23 2014

on getting to the point

I’ve spent the last several months wrestling with time, and of course, time keeps winning. And that is the way of things. I accept the truth of that, but keep fighting just the same, always looking to eke out those few extra minutes.

I wonder how long I can subsist on this low-level adrenaline, when I already know the answer. Even so, I keep pushing. Most mornings I wake up and work on my story, struggling to remember what I wrote the day before. I have packed my mind with white noise, and there is no room for remembering. Lists take care of that for me, at least most of the time.

What I need is a week of writing, what I need is a vacation, what I need is always something other than the circle I stand in. Except it isn’t, I know this, and so I plod on, marching in place and putting down words I hope are coherent.

I refuse to give anything up. Even though it would be easier and smarter and even better, perhaps. There is a sense of urgency coursing through my veins, and I’m not sure where it comes from. In the dead of night I find it frightening, but by light of day I take advantage of this feeling, allow it to push me one step further.

Projects I started last autumn are slowly being finished. And maybe that’s what’s behind all of this, making up for the lost time of last year when being sick kept me from doing anything. I have more energy these days, and I take advantage of that, too, forging on.

And it’s all okay. Winter is coming and I will hibernate and rest more than I care to before spring arrives, to save me once again from my own ennui.

Life is full of contradictions. Cute curlicues and sharp-edged points. My focus shifts between them, but always, my eye seeks the light.

And it’s words that lead me there, even when time tries to stand in my way, even as we circle each other in the dance of existence.

This year, I lead, next year, who knows? I just close my eyes and listen for music.

My mind keeps humming.

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Oct 2 2014

autumn’s cup runneth over

the clouds
reach fingertips down
brush my cheek
as i wander
wonder
at the paintbox
feast
served up
as appetizer
for a main course
of grey

geese bleed through the fog
like ghosts
or mirage

circling the table
yet again

hungry always
for the flavor
of spring

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Sep 30 2014

dear september

How have you been? I’m sorry I keep missing you, it seems like every time you stop by I’m off doing something from the great list of needs to be done. It’s never-ending, that list, and even though you kept bringing me treats and good sunshine, I just haven’t had the time to come out and play. Your cousin, October, has already written and told me she expects better treatment. And I’ll try, I promise. Maybe I’ll even cook her up a nice pot of chili, with a pan of apple crisp for dessert. I mean, a girl’s gotta eat, right?

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for letting you down, I know you tried really hard. I’ll try to do better next time.

I do have a funny story for you, with your allergies being so bad, you’ll be able to relate. This morning I walked to the kitchen straight from my bed, just the same way I do every morning, and turned the stove on to heat the teakettle. While I waited, I talked to the animals, offered treats and fresh water and snuggles, and then I made myself a cup of tea.

I walked into my studio to start getting organized for all the work I have today, and puttered around for a few minutes while I waited for the teakettle to whistle. (Wait, what? I know!) Finally, I figured I hadn’t turned the burner on again, I do that pretty regularly, so I walked out to the kitchen and saw that the kettle wasn’t even sitting on the burner–I usually get that far, just forget to turn it on. And it wasn’t until I saw the cup I’d just made sitting on the counter that I remembered I’d already made it. I think I might be losing my mind. How could I have forgotten something I just did five minutes before?

Apparently I need tea to wake me up enough to make tea. Not sure how I’m going to solve that conundrum, but I thought you might get a kick out of that story.

And just yesterday I made myself a cup without boiling the water first. I realized what I’d done before I took a sip, thank goodness, but still. I’m telling you, these allergies are a killer. I feel like I’m walking around in a fog half the time. Then again, that’s pretty much my normal state of being.

I haven’t been sleeping well either. Some nights I feel like I don’t sleep at all. Damn hormonees. (You saw that movie, right? My Big Fat Greek Wedding? I can never remember if that was you or January.) And have you heard the coyotes lately? They’re crazy loud and it creeps me right out. Sounds like there’s a million of them out there, trolling around in that field right across the road. It makes me worry about Naughty Kitten.

He’s been on a rampage, killing everything he can find. He left us a chipmunk by the back door just the other day, belly up and pathetic looking. Sorry Mr. Chipmunk. I always feel bad about the chipmunks, until I remember that time I saw one in the basement. Then I tell him to get on out there and find the rest of them.

Well, I guess I’d better go and get busy, I have a million things to do today before October gets here. I do hope you’ll come and stay with us again, next year. Maybe you’d like to come for tea. Ha ha.

Love ya tons,
Me

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Sep 9 2014

fresh eyes

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some days
i let my camera choose the focus
and fall in love
with imperfection
all over again

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i dream myself awake and wander
through corners of remembrance
there is no hope
there is only hope
there is only keeping on

we all climb the same mountain
weight-bearing and moon lifted

and the snail that eats
the lily
must surely taste
sunshine

i cannot blame her
for surviving
though i admit
there are times
when i toss her into weeds

where she will climb
and eat the flavor
of absent-minded forgiveness

just as content
with a broken down aster

alive

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