Push and Pull

What is this, this
push and pull,
this need to shut everything down,
to walk away, to sit
under a tree,
until I become long as
a shadow
and creepers think
nothing of me
but a place to lay down roots.
And then, there is
that tremulous flower opening
it’s lips, thirsty for life
and hungry for a bee,
and I want to rush back
to my paper and holding
a pen,
share it, share all this,
this joy called life.



How beautiful the earth is today. How gentle. It’s a gift, a mother’s love. The blooming honeysuckle, the gentlest of breeze and soft soft sunlight. There is a peaceful, pervading stillness, a self contained quiet that is persuasive, leading me into absolute silence and being. No thoughts, no wishes, no dreams. Just pure being and unfolding under this warmth. It makes me want to come back to myself, to gather all those frayed, tattered bits and pieces that constitute my person and, just once, hold them tight to my chest with all the strength in my body, and then, to let them go into this light, so they can fall, softly, gently into place, making me whole once again.








Strewn along winding paths,

long past the hour of repose,

Look at what the stars have left behind

for us mortal souls…

the very essence of their likeness,

in white lace and yellow frill,

earthbound and fragile,

but somehow brighter still.






Lemon drops.

It was so difficult to come back into the sheltered cool of the house. The sun is so bright and happy today, after days of gloomy grey. I just wanted to sit out there, with the sun on my back, melting melting, simply looking at everything, and nothing. A slow soft gaze without purpose, repose-ful. Days like these fill up the soul brimful of light.

Nowhere to go, nowhere to be, except to stay in this light, bathing in it’s warmth.




Look at these happy campers. Just thrilled, I am sure, to feel the sun on their bright little faces. Tiny lemon drops of pure joy.

I do need that sunlight.

It has been a long couple of weeks since I looked out the window, since I lifted my face to the sun. It has been cloudy and I have been too intent on this little screen that brings the world onto my lap.

Too intent.

But the sun could not be ignored today, nor the cardinal that visits everyday,
and my favourite tree that, in the heart of spring, leans, ripe with berries,
over the deck and offers it’s fruit to my lips, my mouth, my hands stained purple.



That tree, that cardinal, this sunlight, my eyes gazing at them with silent recognition of how much they mean to me, how much I have missed them in just two weeks.

The world is still out there with all it’s messy, gritty, complicated beauty.

But for now, this sunlight, me, this simple respite of an hour or two, and my foolish desire for a beautiful, albeit, a simpler world.

Hope you are taking a respite, too, to rest your souls.

Take care of yourselves out there. Look after yourselves and each other.

Random Tandem.

Fall into silence.

Write, write your soul free.


Buddha under the tree.

Wings in flight.

Lichen patchwork and green moss.

Grey skies and a cloud of snow.

The light behind my eyes.

The weight of words.

Curling around a book.

The heaviness of sleepy eyes.

A parody of dreams.

Sleep, sleep, sleep now

and wake up to dancing light.

The song of Fall.

This is what happiness looks like
This light, this love,
this colour.
How the sun loves this season.
Hopping from leaf to leaf
lighting up the souls of roots
and trees,
and that lone, mute wanderer,
with eyes that fill her face
and a voice lost somewhere
along the sidewalks and silent woods,
content to fill her body with
the rustles of fallen leaves
and the dappled golden light.
This is all I need to know of life,
of light, of love.
This becoming,
and then this glorious, blazing




I wish to do this. I do that. Some of the time. All of the time. Now. Never. Always. We are a luscious bunch of contradictions.

Unedited, unfiltered, unapologetic. How thoughts flow like rivers and veins catch on fire from the up-pouring, the roaring in the ears of words, feelings, thoughts, sensations, deja-vus. Flooding the gates of consciousness. Drowning.

Unedited, unfiltered, unapologetic. Walking through life, walking in a pod of silence, empty, filtering in the sounds of the natural world, the light, the perfume, the dance of growth and decay. Floating.

This is it. The true essence.

Unedited, unfiltered, unapologetic, who am I, who are you?





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.