21
Oct 6, 2017
We rumble over bridges, wheels rolling across weathered slats, dappled shadows stretching. Zoe takes the lead, crouching low, blonde hair flying behind her in ribbons. Kevin trails her gently, restraining his pace just enough to let her go. Somehow at first, I’m in the middle, sandwiched between these I love–two blazing, two simmering. The path […]
22
Sep 15, 2017
Walking and talking of heavy things, the churning, sputtering things that muck up a mind, I drop them like stones from my hands, leaving them discarded. This is the one place I can toss out all the yuck without poisoning another soul, this winding road beneath trees that endlessly pour forth praise. The wind carries […]
23
Nov 4, 2016
I can hear them from the kitchen. Their laughter–giddy, riotous–bounces and floats, and every so often I catch a “yea, and–“, just the edge of a phrase, the words pointed and stretched for diving in. They have left this solid, dusty, hungry place for another realm, for a place where garden fairies dressed in glittery leaves co-exist […]
24
Nov 20, 2015
Dinner time–almost, and already the crisp darkness makes our window panes cold beneath my fingers. I switch on lamps to fill the room with light, light I hope will glow well beyond the house, slipping out around the edges of the panels of the curtains, beaming boldly through the glass. And with the light, I pray […]
25
Oct 9, 2015
So many times this week I’ve whispered the words—running under stunning blue skies; exhaling beside grassy spaces where dewey spider webs glow like hundreds of silver threaded veils seemingly abandoned by impetuos ethereal brides; in the dying light of the afternoon, when the work still stretches, teasing at the edges of impossible. I say it […]
26
Sep 18, 2015
Quiet in the kitchen, except for the sound of my fingers skooshing through flour and egg, sugar, spices; soft-thumping against the sides of the stainless bowl. These cookies only come together by touch. They resist the spoon. Fall comes, and it smells of cinnamon and clove, candied ginger minced fine under the shiny, sharp edge of […]
27Oct 17, 2014
I don’t know how much time I have left. Afternoon, and autumn leaves wander and twist to the earth, fluttering through the grass and along the sidewalk. The sun makes a blaze of the trees. I stop for a moment just to see, putting down my work, stunned by the fragility of life. I […]
28Oct 10, 2014
Sometimes wishing for something else, something better, something other, nearly spoils the planting. In our hands, we carry seed to sow, seed gritty in our fingers and sweaty in the palm. But standing in the middle of I don’t want to, we scarely imagine the blooms that will come once we reluctantly leave those hard, dead […]
29Oct 3, 2014
This week, a departure for Kevin and me, a Sabbath rest: Tucked away, pulled back from the busy road and held–but lightly–by the trees, we hide beneath the fog. Sound is magnified here, somehow, or perhaps it is that other noise removed leaves room for hearing birdsong, the cheeky chatter of squirrels, the deep-throated gurgle […]
30Nov 1, 2013
In the afternoon, we burst through the door, with three different conversations knotting in the air—one thread hard to follow, one dangling, one darting so fast I can’t keep up. A general fumbling ensues for snacks, and Mom, I need to tell you, and What I have to do today is, and May I watch Tom and Jerry, […]