Wind scares me. Living under trees - mostly pine and sweetgum - I think about them falling, bending, breaking over my worldly things. I worry about the strain and stress that will come when the wind has blown one time in just the right way and the damage it will leave behind. I worry. I am a worrier. And the wind really makes me worry. Walking around and seeing the debris and the small insignificant amount of time I will spend cleaning up I am grateful to our trees for standing tall in the weather the subtle way they do. I am also aware that we are lucky and will be praying for everyone who has not been as fortunate as we were this time. Wind ushers change - often devastating change. Please support as best you can all the people in all the places that have been touched by wind, fire, rain, flooding, and smoke. Pay attention to the needs we don't easily see and give where you are able to lovingly. This is not a time in our history of being human to be selfish. There is much work to be done - on every level possible.



Home Is
A spider web
In the light of the sun
Rising in the east.
It is the sit of the wren,
The pecking of the chickens
And the sweetness
Of my lovers kiss
Upon my neck
His breath and smell forcing me
To close my eyes
And savor the moment.

Home is the roar of the highway
As people travel
And south
Even on a perfect
Sunday morning.
It is a breath held
And released
For the stillness the cool breeze
Brings to the moment.
It is the glistening drop of water
Slowly gathering
And enough weight
To drop
To the earth
In a thundering unexpected
Silent splash.

Home is the chatter of the squirrels
Momentarily upset
By the hawk
Who hunts them
And miraculously appears
Seemingly out of no where
Or the raccoon
Who instinctually year after year
Returns to the faithful persimmon
Savor in their short season.
It is the pine warbler trill,
The hermit thrush song,
The nuthatch call,
And the seasonal
Eastern phoebe song.

Home is here.

Out of rock

Be still, my heart, these great trees are prayers.

~ Rabindranath Tragore


God speaks in the sounds of perfect stillness.

His language is held in the vibration of light.

His words float aimlessly on the air

Carrying the poetry of all that is.

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I want people to say about me 

that she wrote

she created

she never stopped


through words what the spirit revealed to her.

I want them to say

Even if the words were not theirs

Or her ways were not theirs

She still wrote.

She still shared her heart.

I want them to say

that the echoes

of her spirit

rang from the canopy of trees,

she was held in the light of the sun

she was carried on the breeze that blows

invisibly over the surface of the earth.

I want them to say

The birds sang their morning songs

outside her window

beckoning her to join them in welcoming the day.

Her days were wrought with action

with loving

with living

with all that she had...

I want them to say:

She loved the earth.

She loved her man.

She loved her children.

She loved her life.

I want them to say they saw me...

Because they saw it within themselves.