Sun Dancer
Sun Dancer The dawn moon quiets my mysterious wonder into a deep palette of soft watercolors.
Late Afternoon in Early Winter
Early winter has descended upon us in Colorado. A November blizzard and more since then has brought us into a season of quiet and white sooner than expected. In a world outside of quiet snowfalls, it is joyful to walk among summer and autumn that once was. The wood stove fire burns slowly, warmth seeps into ridges of a […]
Remnant
A very special poem from my poetry collection Journey On: Beauty And Grit Along the Way. It was one of those poems that came to me so easily…I love when writing a poem can actually be almost effortless. This one was: Remnant You found me alone, yearning for the summer’s moon and encircled me like a wraparound porch. Drawing me close, you took my pain and fears and welcomed them in. You came and stayed in my heart giving love with yours. You are gone, but your love remains, like the remnant of an old soft blue sweater hung nearby on a peg by the back door, waiting for the wearer to return home.
A Walk with the Clouds
Let us walk, along the mountain coast under clouds light as springtime air. There are no cares from the pouring rain that soak our way. Skies of denim blue nudged by the sea’s wind remind us to leave behind heartache and hurdle. I take your laughter and weave it with mine as the sun warms our backs.
Tech vs Serendipity
I found this quote on a blog from the New Yorker and wondered what others think of this. Not having everything electronically at your fingertips allows for a level of serendipity that I value and encourage in life, especially when traveling. I think with technology we�re allowed to have lives filled with convenience, but when the convenience takes away some of the joy from everyday circumstances, what are we really compromising? Read more http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/susanorlean/2011/08/moveable-feast.html#ixzz1Y9HH4XCw
The Workbench
The Workbench After the burial, I walk up to the old white clapboard house and peer with cupped hands into a cobwebbed cellar window. Inside the dank and musty interior, I see my grandfather’s once vital workbench ghostlike, scarcely lit by streaks of powdered April sunshine. His step stool once too big for me, seems to smile at me in […]
I am greeting September with a quiet poem for my readers. The bustle of summer is now past. Here in Colorado our mornings begin with chilled autumn like temperatures. Spots of orange are appearing on the scrub oak and the aspens are tinged with golden on their tips of their leaves. So now make a cup of vanilla almond tea, settle in and read from the Journey On Collection Listening for My Name. I thank you for reading my words. Listening for My Name You returned with mysteries forgiven a gentle cover of darkness surrounded me with the wonder of anticipation. You became yourself once more someone long forgotten, this time promising never to be lessened by fear again. Inner stirrings beckoned for you beneath my hidden need. And then, you began to give while I began to take with delicious breath. Beyond the window pane the rains fell, the thunder moved in from far off distances. You gathered me in like fog clinging to a river, refreshing sleep whispered this gift as moonlight drifted through brushed away clouds. In the quiet days and nights of winter to come, I will turn to you, and listen for my name.
