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….

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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…

The Bloom and the Seed

The first frost warning has passed And still our flowers bloom The ones we planted together Purple and yellow and pink… Deep green foliage Mingled with white baby’s breath… Pale pink honeysuckle and purple Lilacs and Rhododendron. The flowers that we planted Years ago… Before, Before it all changed They are still open Oblivious to…

“Mourning” Has Broken — Waking Up From Grief

A few months after my 15 year old daughter died in a tragic car accident, I slipped into a routine of staying up until almost sunrise or later, and sleeping most of the day away.  I wasn’t working at the time (bereavement leave) and lived entirely alone in a rural Appalachian area. In my mind, it…