Bless that path
in those woods, dark
and damp,
and on fire, that
lead me to these tongues
of flame
oddly cool from the dew
when I could feel their heat
on my face, in my eyes,
lighting, lighting up my world
with their breath.



Acrylics on Canvas 24″ x  48″

This baby has been through so many changes, transformations. A dab here, a swath there! I love the quick ‘furtive’ movements of adding a dab here, a dab there, a detail here, a detail there…and I love the wide expansive  movement of my arm and my palm as I put down broad strokes of paint in corners, on the face. That part, to me, is why I paint. It’s a dance. It’s moving with the painting. Of emerging with it.


To be wise or not to be..


My heart felt wise today for no other reason than that it wanted to. And I, foolishly perhaps, let it, because this feeling is so very rare.
Maybe our old souls know all the wisdom of the ages but it is buried deep deep within the wells of our hearts and only comes to the surface, shimmering, under a certain light, or a certain need. Then it comes bounding up when one least expects it, and in that moment, one feels as though it has always been there like an old familiar face or a song…waiting to be seen…to be heard.



Simple rituals that yet settle the heart. The soft intimacy of journaling by candlelight. Especially now that dawn arrives with slower, more hesitant feet. Reaching for the day through solitude.

:: the candle light looks like two ducks floating on water, doesn’t it? ::


You don’t walk away from this sight. You stand, and you gaze into its liquid eyes, and you thank your lucky stars to be a part of this world that has such beauty in it. Such simplicity. And you do this every single day. Again, and again, and again..




The flower knows it’s truth; To bloom,
with neither worry, nor care, for the size,
or the shape, or the colour of it’s petals.
The flower knows it’s truth; To thrust open
it’s lips and drink in the wind and the water.
To love the sun, fiercely, all day, and to lie
with the moon, cradled sweetly through the night.
The flower knows it’s truth; To receive and
to live. Fully. Completely. Simply. To bloom,
and to wither, gently, into that which gave it life.
How sweet, how simple, how profound. To bloom into
your knowing and blossom in it’s care.

To be that flower!

Alas, I must seek my truth. What is my truth?
What is yours?


“Come”, said the Maker, “I will give you wings”.

“What will I do with the wings?”, said the butterfly.

“Why, love all the flowers in the field of course”, said the Maker.



all this and nothing.

i am darkness and death
light and breath
i am the bark as i lean into it’s roughness
and the earth that i grip between my toes
i am the stars and the night that holds them
like so many lovers
i am the sky and the wind that presses into my body
with it’s many sighs..
i am the soft open fields and the hardness of the mountains
i am time that walks through tunnels and timelessness
that floats on warm summer days between the wings of fireflies
i am hunger and the fruit
i am the solace and the pain
i am the ocean and the drowning
i am all this…
and i am nothing…