Unexpectedly in the light.

There is always something growing, something pushing through the earth’s bind. Pockets of microcosms. ‘…more things in heaven and earth..’, ya? Infinite and infinitely more.

There is a tree trunk in our yard that is lush with these uber little beings growing in the dead of winter. A strange and fascinating landscape.

(The optimal zoom on my phone camera has rendered the images slightly blurry.)


Something dies, something else takes its place. Round and round and round. How wonderful it all is. This place, this land, teeming, diminishing, growing again, thrilling with life and activity. Quietly going about it’s ways, weeding, weeding, weeding, and nurturing, building, supplying, calmly following it’s path and it’s edict.


How sane and level it all is. How wild. How matter of fact and absolutely magical.




How does one not fall on one’s knees in awe. Again and again and again. And yet, it is not enough. This awe pales in comparison to what really goes through our minds, bodies, hearts, isn’t it? That electrifying resonance, Alive!

We are so severely limited by our vocabulary. The limit of our thoughts and emotions that does not allow us to go beyond a certain point. But then why must I question it? Why put words to something that must be felt, lived.


I think this body, though inarticulate, knows. This body that wants to dig deep into the dirt and disappear into the sap of a tree.

What is it like to be a part of this earth in that most fundamental of ways? To grip it, to know it to the marrow, without question, without hesitation. To simply know. Be. Live, in the truest sense of that word. Lords of the earth and sky. No, not lords. Partners then. So integral that there is no tree, no earth, just one pulsing life.

What is that like? HA! This immutable need to put words to things that must by nature be lived, known, despite our selves.






Imagine what it must be like,
to wait in the dark, silently,
all night,
now under the moonlight,
now under the stars,
so that come dawn,
before the palest of sheens
has broken the sky,
you can hold out your face, your limbs,
your thrilled and eager body,
for these liquid globes of light,
these cold cold thirst quenchers.



I held
my palm
this soft
and tapping
on it’s stem,
the dew
and partook
of this morning
My thirst
my soul
I waded my way
slowly, fully,
the rest
of the day.

Holding on.


I am struggling…
to hold on to my sagacity,
to what I call my kind side,
never thought that would be a challenge.
I find more expletives in my mind now
than I have ever done before.
Thank God, they still haven’t taken to spilling
over my lips.
I couldn’t abide that. I don’t like swearing.

I mourn, each day I mourn,
for lives, for causes, for lost time…
Can you feel the earth heave in pain?
Forget making sense of all that is going on out there,
I simply do not have the capacity for it.
I will lose what softness is left to me.
Sounds selfish, I know, I am sorry,
but my family lives there, in that softness,
and the tiny share of goodness that is alloted me.

The trees live there, and the flowers,
the bees, and the birds, let’s not forget the squirrels
whom I adore, and the silent deer that
glide so gracefully, silently through the yard,
keeping to the shadows and their contemplative silence.

The hugs live there, too,
the ones that you wait for all day,
the after work ones, and the after school ones,
slightly tired, yet happy to be home ones.
I live for those hugs. Don’t we all?
And the conversations at the dinner table?
The catching up, what did you do? And you?
Where are we growing and loving and being…

Were we kind today, were we mindful..
this is where I want to begin each day
and to end it.
This is what I must guard, and hold on to
if I am to survive and make and create and live.
This is what I can give my child, to give to all the lives
he will touch.

This is my mantra, my elixir, my breath…
and in the wake of this hurtling planet,
I am going to hold on tight to this plan, to this idea,
to this love, like a child holding on to it’s mother’s skirts
and hope that it is enough,
this holding on.







New friends!


In the middle of a copse, in the center of a corn field, there was a wedding. The September sun poured through the trees, bathing the sparkling, flushed bride and groom, and the beaming guests with it’s amber light. The pooches, ring bearer and flower girl wearing a tutu, looked adorable and behaved so well. Nary a bark between them. We sat on bales of hay, with sunflowers and pumpkins decorating the aisle. The ceremony was sweet, simple, heartfelt. A truly beautiful wedding!

The reception was held in a barn studded with starry lights, with sunflower fields on one end and these new friends on the other.


At the sight of us, they came strolling up to see what was up.


Pausing to converse between themselves, slightly unsure of the strangers.


How those ears twitched, and rolled, and that long nose huffed, and puffed!


And then there were these sweet beauties. What a riot!


When they lean into you so, with their golden, inquisitive faces, you do not walk away. You stop, and you stare into their sweet, friendly faces, and wonder at the wonder of it all, and the beauty of the world, and how fortunate we are to be given the chance to see it, feel it, to make it our own even if for a fleeting moment. You carry them in the cockles of your heart over the next day, and the next, and the next until they become a part of you, and you see life through their light.




Saved the best for last. Big rolling eyes, an inquisitive nose and an apple fallen on the ground: a recipe for a very happy heart. Mine, of course!





That sweet face. That body, plump with nectar, buzzing with life. Such devotion to every bloom in it’s path. Here is the art of living. Simplicity. With whirring wings and thirsty tongues and sticky feet. Making honey morning, noon and night until there is breath in the body. And after? A whole sparkling field of flowers.

Light and darkness…


It is hard to leave this light and walk indoors into shadows and half light. Into chores and daily litany. It is often easy to forget that there is a prayer in the everyday hustle that keeps us fed, and clean, and safe. When all one wants to do is linger in this golden light and let all the dark, moldy bits seep out of one’s being, it is easy to forget that darkness has it’s purpose, too. In darkness, we rest, we sleep, we let go for a while all that holds us down and back. All that bickers at our soul and repeats not enough, not enough, not enough. In darkness, our conscience does the mending and the building so that we can rise again and walk out into the light, and perhaps, for a time, be the light.

Colour, colour, what colour…

I thought happiness was
that ball of deep burning orange in
the mauve sky;

Or surely this blinding white
pouring over the fence
with it’s cool fragrant bursts;

The path leading across fields,
I knew it was that particular winning shade
of periwinkle.

But now I am convinced it is yellow.


Summer glimpses.








Summer has been lovely. All the walks in the woods, the time spent wandering aimlessly, for a while, just looking, peering into the faces of flowers, the dark edges of ponds, the soft plop, plop of mysterious creatures coming up for air, or food perhaps. Reading poetry there, and beauty of course. The silence and the incessant chirping, all falling with equal grace upon the eager, grateful ears that like to hear nothing and everything, that are married to sound and silence with equal fervor. The rising and softly falling away of images, day dreams. Some known, others unknown. Strange yet strangely familiar. All this and so much more.

Summer has been so lovely.



Rosebuds in tea.


IMG_20170721_121143IMG_20170721_122625IMG_20170721_123251This sweet little bud that flavored my tea. Thank you for granting me a moment of grace, for soothing my eyes, for softening my heart with your sweetness. There is so much to be said for thanking the food on our table. For taking a moment to be grateful for the sustenance, for this gift of nature that was given freely. I am saddened that I have moved away from it. I am saddened that I take it for granted and only praise the colour or the pretty picture that it makes. Isn’t true mindfulness understanding the wholeness of the gift of the moment? Looking beyond what we gain from it?

As an adult, I have always shied away from plucking flowers and leaves. I enjoy them so much more on the trees and plants, their natural home. The only time I buy flowers is when we have a pooja, a religious ceremony, where we offer fruits and flowers to the deities. I remember absolutely sobbing when the people we hired to do our driveway cut the beautifully arching honeysuckle to make room for their truck. I remember the bewildered worker calling his boss to inform him about the crazy lady crying over the honeysuckle. Poor man! But I couldn’t help it, and I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I say that I felt the pain physically. I feel it still. I know it’s deeply hypocritical of me because I do eat fruits and vegetables plucked from vines and trees, but there it is. I guess I am quirky that way. 😛

But one thing I do hope to do from now on. Express my profound gratitude for every meal and morsel. It is the least I can do.