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At the darkest
It is shelter
It is place
place to escape
place to be
myself
alone

No Pretense

It didn’t matter that your hand
was covered with fur
It didn’t matter that you limped
or had an under bite

What it is to be Human… Truth and Doing

Lately, I work with my hands a lot. This desire to create — to feel the musty soil responding to my hands as I bury a bulb beneath the dirt; to cut fresh meats, vegetables and herbs and place them in a simmering pot of broth; to feel a nail sliding through a piece of wood at the command of my hammer– feels primal….

Need and Meaning in the Time of Thanks

The leaves have fallen and their musty scent lifts up from the woods around the house and drapes itself around me like a shawl. The beautiful red maple leaves lie dormant on the forest lawn along side the oaks and birch and lowly locust. Their decay, although colorful and dramatic, usually takes me down a path to a past…