Before the Blue Sky

Before you see the blue of the sky you see the trees here and the hills. This is rugged terrain old mountains worn down to hills land worked too hard old people as hard as the earth beauty mangled by life Near the edge of my wood There’s a hollow carved out in this old,…

A Place of Our Own: Appalachia

I want to talk to you about Appalachia. It brings to mind images of toothless, aged creatures with dirty faces fresh from the mines, images of barefoot, barely dressed, children wearing feed sacks with barren landscape as a background, doesn’t it? Maybe, modern day stereotypes conjure images of welfare recipients, overweight, diseased people, strung out…

Secret Society of Ferns

You spread yourself Across the woodland floor. A colony of answers. A secret society tucked In the woods, born of spores that were born of spores born millions of years ago. Your seed floating from woodland and swamp Through epochs and eras, across continents now divided By water and war. You are a living fossil….

Nobody Wants Hot Cheesecake!

Nobody wants piping hot cheesecake. It’s one of those rare delicacies that must be chilled before enjoyed. You have to mix, measure, pour and stir. You have to taste, make sure it’s sweet, but not too sweet and bake it just right in a spring pan to ensure that it won’t stick and ruin. You…

Black Mask, Red Tomato

A Red Tomato Bursts On The vine Inside oozes Outward Her seeds keeping time Sweet center Remains Salt Deepens the Flavor As Green vines remains ever deepening her favor Young Weathered hand Calloused cracked, worn Reaches out Hesitating Looking for Fruit unadorned Perhaps his Blue eyes Should be Draped In black His Thick hands In…

Home

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

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…