Birds of Different Feathers Do Flock Together…

… if they have a common goal, in this case, eating sunflower seeds during a snow storm. If only humans could be so wise.       Advertisements

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Naked

Until two days ago, I was writing this blog anonymously. For some unfathomable reason, a few days ago, I decided I was ready to share my secret blogging world with the real people in my life on Facebook. To my surprise, people not only read the post I shared but also went back through my…

Truth, Lies and Red-Eyes on a Sunday Afternoon

I’m drinking a Red-Eye, mid-day, on a Sunday. A cold rain set in this morning, melting a heavy layer of snow that’s covered the ground for the last two days; the kind of snow that drapes the trees and ground in an exquisite silence. CNN is on the television, the newscasters talking endlessly about Donald…

Thyme Alone on the Hill

It’s 24 degrees outside. The snow is falling, and I have meatball and chicken broth soup slow cooking in my little country home. I can smell the onions and garlic, the carrots and celery, the chicken broth and thyme. I’m totally alone, and I’m happy. I have a beer in my hand, a cigarette burning…

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…

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…

The Blue Hole… West Virginia and The Opiate Epidemic

When I was a child I would go to my favorite swimming hole, a deep spot in the Sago River not far from my house in a small town in West Virginia. We called it the Blue Hole. I was a swimmer by nature. My parent’s swore I was born with gills.I could always find the water, and there…

The Insatiable Wind

The storm churned up the all this debris The wind was inconsolable Its appetite… Insatiable In its aftermath… Limbs of trees Leaves strewn across the yard Screen doors torn from their hinges Whole trees lying horizontal Nature spit about like vomit… With hundreds of years of history Exposed Dead and unresponsive Dried up, like the…

Peeking Through

There’s a hole in the trees above my house You can lie on your back in the front yard And look up at the sky through this portal of green…. Or in the fall, the portal frame turns to burnt reds, rusty oranges golden yellows Like a fireworks show Put on by nature… This is…