Category: Uncategorized
-
So many foggy mornings this December. Fog always makes me think about how things are not always as they seem. How things that were clear just hours before can become fuzzy overnight, and also how truths that seem distant and unformed can become clear as the fog burns away in the bright glow of awareness.…
-
I’ve been drunk-binging on nature lately, pulled from my grind-screen work and what I ‘should’ be doing to spend hours just gazing at the wonders of the fall. I end up working way too late to compensate, but you can only see the foliage in the daylight. Such transformation is amazing. It gives me hope.…
-
I fell in.
-
Poem-sword in one hand, packing tape in the other, recycling bin in my third hand and tissues in my fourth. (For the dust. It makes me sneeze.) My fifth hand is clutching a steaming mug and my sixth hand is wasting time on Facebook. My seventh and eighth hands are clasped in some kind of prayer,…
-
night suddenly pink under streetlamp moon drizzle wets black mulch fragrant as perfume heady cedar, pencil-shaving, sandalwood scent a half-gallon of milk swinging in my hand I drink darkness, taste the sky, swollen with tulip poplar blooms waving in the wind
-
From Rebecca Solnit’s essay called “Woolfe’s Darkness, Embracing the Inexplicable” found in her book, Men Explain Things to Me. “Feeling emotional upheaval is not a spiritual faux pas; it’s the place where the warrior learns compassion.” –Pema Chödrön, From The Places That Scare You “When it is dark enough, you can see the…
-
I saw a picture of Michael Brown’s mother as she heard the verdict. I felt her mother’s pain radiate into my heart, into my safe flat-screened life a roaring scream— and with the pain, my own weak shame: in my white-bubble youth I was taught justice would be served— to everyone, it says so right…
-
I am a leaf, falling, surrendering, I will not cling, like a mitten on a clip— No, I’ll flutter like a bird float through this dizzy blue forever fall freely letting go, or winter will never come and if winter never comes spring will never bloom I am a leaf, falling.
-
Cicadas Their maracas shake in dark trees: even indoors, windows closed, fans on: they thrum, thrum, a constant presence, insect-induced tinnitus I like their cascading drone, insistent announcement—we live! Humans, greedier than any insect, haven’t killed them off, not yet, unlike the passenger pigeons, once so plentiful flocks of them darkened the daytime skies for…
-
Yesterday morning at seven-thirty, I went for a walk. The sun was streaming down Evanswood, turning the street into a golden river of light. Across that river, in the neighbor’s front yard, a trio of deer placidly munched hostas, unbothered by the dog walkers and the pack of school children milling at the…
eeo 