When Loggerhead turtles hatch, they are the same color as the sand.  We have to lean down to see, after a  friendly woman—a stranger wearing a pink baseball cap and salt-smeared eyeglasses—beckons to us, backlit by the sunrise.  Initially blind, we wonder what she could possibly have to show us in the middle of that broad stretch […]

In the dark, we slide our feet into flip flops, creeping out the door with steamy mugs of coffee balanced in our hands, with plump towels draped and dangling from our arms.  Whispering, we search the sky for signs of first light, for wisps of cotton-candy pink.   Carefully we descend the stairs, touching foot […]

They are not, of course, in the butterfly garden where they are supposed to be, not in the lane past the pretty picket fence and that rough, weathered gate that threatens splinters.  I sit down on a bench in front of a high, knotted hedge thick with vines, allowing my eyes to wander over wild, delicate […]

They cast a long shadow on the lawn, all legs, son in so many ways like his father.  It’s striking.  Nothing really prepares a mother for the moments when she looks at her children and sees something of the adults they’re becoming, the careful sculpting of the future.  No matter how broad those shoulders get, I […]

I love the light when it’s fresh at the start of the day.  It’s like a clean window we’ve not yet touched with our fingers; like the diaphanous edges of some sacred space.  Sitting on the porch in the morning feels like resting in the palm of God’s hand as He slowly opens his fingers.  This […]

Evening at the beach, and I’m swaying in the porch swing, pushing my toes against the deck planks.  It’s too dark to see the ocean from where I sit, but I can just make out the faint, ever-changing lines of white caps, like fine, thin sketch marks adding dimension to shades of black and blue-gray. […]

From the worn table–an oval thing, brown like the hull of a nut and rubbed with a history of fingers, a delicate kaleidoscope of tiny butterflies drifts, falling lightly on our living room carpet. I scoop up the thin, papery things with one hand as I walk by, kneeling just the moment, and carefully dump […]

I have kept my shoes on all afternoon for just this mad-rushing, this quick gathering—the blankets slipping from my arms. “Come on, you guys, come on,” Zoe says, and we hurry to huddle in the dark, pressing our bodies into each other. They say that the best place to be in the wind-ripping event of […]

Late afternoon and the light begins to fade, and we widen the gaps in the window blinds, tugging the dangling strings with our fingers.  Usually, I close up the house instead; slide the curtains closed against the coming dark, press my fingers flat against the chilled window panes.  Tonight though, I switch on the lamps […]

Days after Christmas, and their wishlists still hang on the refrigerator, curling slightly at the corners where our nearness, our brushing past, has gently reshaped the paper.  And of course, the lists have been moved a few times–carefully detached to travel with me to the store, lifted once or twice for closer reading, softly touched with an […]