her voice a whistling thrush beckons play by tranquil streams her hands swift wings hasten flight to wild and wondrous dreams her heart a nestled grove where on freedom and courage i graze imagination is her name with hope her soul’s ablaze Continue reading my companion
When tufts of silver mask my brow, Unsteadily I stray, When clouded veils through which I see Cause me to hesitate, When through the door you enter And soundly I still sleep, Know your presence comforts me. Just be…just be. When on timbered trails we wander And I beckon you to stall, When up the … Continue reading Just Be
Turpentine and sawdust, the two scents ever present in his workshop and in my memory. I recall the times I sat upon the sawhorse watching my father create. A carpenter and an artist immersed in visions imprinted in his mind or possibly his soul. He worked in solitude and with intention. Continue reading Turpentine and Sawdust
A home Is built of its inhabitants, Necessary timbers Whether green or splintered. Each passing Welcomes the enemy of change; Mourning the spirit who has passed And a home that will never be again. I hesitate to write Because doing so makes it real. Mack’s spirit of shameless exuberance Has come…and gone. Gone… The penetrating … Continue reading Timbers
An earthy scent weighs in the air; Nestlings hover close. Up-turned leaves, Darkened skies. A time we treasure most. Distantly the rumble lulls Us deeper in her spell. The lightning’s flash, It’s boom and crash. Storm’s distance it does tell. Raindrops spatter, Then pound and splatter, Storm weeps and bids farewell. Continue reading Storm’s Pass
On our walk today, I couldn’t help but notice Seraphina’s bliss – no time limit, no place to go in particular, no rules really. Mostly, we strolled and stopped, strolled and stopped with her nose buried in crisp leaves and drainage pipes along the way. I was fascinated in recognizing that she knew more about … Continue reading Seeing with Different Eyes
Looking in the mirror, I recognize my father. My family may argue that I’m like my mother when I talk to everyone and anyone around me, go to all ends to win a game, or threaten to suck up items left in my path when I actually do vacuum. But if it were put to … Continue reading 10 Traits Inherited from My Father
Even for the best intentioned, it’s easy to forget that pets have wants, opinions, and oppositions as we habitually make decisions for them. We decide when and what they eat, when they go out and come back in, where they sleep, where they travel, how and when they exercise, and with whom and how often … Continue reading On Choice, Fulfillment, & Liberty: Enabling Enrichment in the Lives of Our Pets
The wind Whispers to me of change. Even the oak, Mighty and stubborn, Bows to its command. Sustained chimes Echo reminders Of movement and time, Loss and rebirth. A runaway train Life sometimes is. Either we hold fast As it spirals down mountainsides And around sharp bends, Or we watch itCharge past, Stealing the treasures … Continue reading The Winds of Change
How is it that a masterpiece is craftedBefore my very eyesBy artists so minuscule and silent?What once was a solid trunk,Now an intricate displayOf mighty tunnels and hollows.I wonder if they know of its majesty As they go about Heeding their skill and their purpose? Continue reading A Masterpiece
“The heat lasted until nightfall, and all that time he had to carry his jacket. But when he thought to complain about the burden of it’s weight, he remembered that, because he had the jacket, he had withstood the cold of the dawn.” -Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist For me, the jacket, or burden as it … Continue reading The Burden
What is it about night that eludes solemnity? The rhythmic tock from the wall downstairs The whoosh of a solitary car, Or the peaceful exhales of those in slumber Who share my life. Yet too soon does light creep upon the horizon With the frequency of passing travelers Stealing my solace. Alerting me of new … Continue reading Night
I said goodbye to her today in the old country church, the only place I ever knew her. The eldest of four generations of abiding women who sat successionally from aisle to inner pew, hers was a spirit of joy, faith, and hospitality. Although her name was unknown to me, she inspired me by the … Continue reading The Matriarch
Tonight in Sainte-Ursule, I rock in the farmhouse kitchen of a great uncle I never knew. A day filled with sounds of a language from my past; among family with whom I may never be again. I search my soul for echos of my parents’ laughter and conversations among family here; visits with my mémère … Continue reading Retreat Amonst Ghosts
There are moments in our lives, which are so dear to our hearts. When brought to mind, Our senses recall these times as vividly as our memories And we live these moments once more. The seventh of March Brought the warm steady weight of Tucker’s head on my lap, The gentle fall of a quiet … Continue reading The Seventh of March
I recently visited my Canadian relatives and spent half of my time with them in pure exhaustion just from trying to make sense of the conversation. Studying French from junior high through college and growing up in a house where French and English were used interchangeably, one would think that the language would be second … Continue reading Making Sense without Words
Sitting on the old leather arm chair in my studio beneath my grandmother’s quilt is where I find the quiet I need to write during the winter months. As I examine the tattered fabrics most likely cut from old garments or scraps of extra fabric from those newly sewn, I wonder… a dress, an apron, … Continue reading Beneath My Grandmother’s Quilt
A conversation with a friend started me thinking about the topic of authenticity and how important it is in relationships. Being true to oneself is liberating, requires self-confidence and grit, but can also leave one vulnerable to criticism and judgement. I guess that’s why we are most authentic with those we trust and we earn … Continue reading Authenticity
Roxaboxen, written by Alice McLerran and beautifully illustrated by Barbara Cooney, is one of my absolute favorite children’s books. It is a nostalgic story about the magic of childhood imagination that leaves me in tears every time “grey-haired Charles” returns to the place of his upbringing. Reading Roxaboxen often leads me to reminisce about places around … Continue reading Make Believe
How to I begin to tell of a dog, an old crippled Labrador that fell into my life at a time I could only justify by deceit? “Only until I can find him a good home,” is what I said, but I knew that home would be mine. We met as intimate friends reunited across … Continue reading Cyrus the Great
