I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.
~ Pablo Neruda
Champion
It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.
~ Rainer Maria Rilke
Patch
This little patch of earth is the greatest paradox in my life. I long to wander and explore and commune with this precious earth - to see her beauty in all her corners.. to find myself amongst the wild things. Simultaneously I live for the flower season, for vegetable season, for butterflies, hummingbirds.. warblers, nests, spiders, and snakes.. I long for my back to ache from spending time with the plants that grow here and my hands to be rough from the dirt that clings to my pores. I long for the complexity in a silent starlit night and the symphonic satisfaction of cricket song.. The buzz of bumble bees and the yellow of black eyed Susan’s.. I long to bathe in mountain streams and crawl under the mountain laurel smelling the moss and damp earth.. and watch my little plants grow to become food for my family and medicine for my soul. My nature is both nurturer and individual - wanderer and hermit.. seeker and finder.. lost and found.. settled and restless.. I am all all the emotions and all the labels. I do not fit in a box nor do I fit in a circle..
Beard
Another in better light.. Because she’s only around for a few days.. Absolutely exquisite.. Pause.. Breathe.. Presence
