she spun herself underwater as if gravity were pulling her the other way around

as if the surface of the water were a looking glass into the sky

she touched it with her toe, walking on water, toying with the fabric of the universe

ripples like folds of blue

bubbles like the stars catching fire

swirls of purple majesty and wisps of a silver-cream

silence in slow-motion.

and then she stopped. and it was time to go.


even the darkest nights have stars

in fact, that’s when they shine even brighter

and the ones that were invisible before – this is when the world first sees them glimmer

(but don’t you know, they’ve been shining on their own all along).

we aren’t left to fend for ourselves in the dark –

each night, we are tucked in with a translucent blanket of majesty – threaded with periwinkle-navy and deep blue,

glittered with layers and layers of frosted twinkles – if your hand could reach out to touch it, you’d move the stars.

you can’t beat the air here, especially after it’s rained – dew brings you an ice-cold brew (essence of tree bark, the red kind). night mixes it with cool. nostrils try to sip in summer’s glass, but the flavor always just lingers on the tip of the tongue – taste buds singing for more.

so you lay down, cold sidewalk beneath, and dream.

and you get up – and dance with your arms held high.

the most perfect moment

nature’s stained glass window of hail and rain.

thunder / zues / light / shining through capsules of water diving themselves into a million splashes of sidewalk.

reminding you of the mystery and sublime of life – of beauty and danger – all wrapped up in one. short. moment.

and then it’s gon-.

the state of (in)between

the process. the practice. the journey.

we think of it in agony. sometimes. often. panic/excitement/anguish.

we forget that it is…

the art of making. of baking pies (blueberry). the anticipation of sweet reward. that which makes making so sweet. and sour.

but have hope. take courage. squeeze out every bit of confidence. because once it has passed. it is only memory.

“Everything you need you already have.” – Wayne Dyer

The Sun squeezed her energy out like cool splashes of citrus running down from heaven’s invisible glass. The Wind let himself get tipsy from it.  

A woman stood in the parking lot. The one unwavering spirit in the midst of busy bodies making bee lines here and there. Standing on an elevated block, she quietly slipped her hands into pockets. Wind blew towards her and she took a deep breath as if they met for the first time. Everything loud and busy around her. But she, she exuded a quiet present-ness, soaking up the current moment for all that it was. Careful not to miss a drop, but not wanting for more.

And that was enough.

sleep says hello

like a long day,

and a hot shower.

sits on you

like a square of warm butter on blueberry muffins,

like peanut butter honey on applesauce pancakes.

hugs you

like fresh bread and loaded potato soup,

like the sun on a Sunday afternoon.

comforts you

like the cool side of the pillow,

like mac n cheese in your 30s.

doesn’t want to say goodbye

like corn between your teeth,

like the memory of custard pie.

says goodbye

like the last cup of winter’s cider,

like putting your sweaters in the back of your closet.

Add an R to your tea to make it salty.

Drink some tea for your tears.
Drink some tears for your sorrow.

Wipe your eyes on your tea-shirt.
Tears don’t leave stains – only grains.

Of salt. For your wounds.

R stands for rainbows, rain boots, and rain drops.

U sits for ugly ducklings, umbrellas, and u-boats.

Eat a gum drop. Drink a tea drop. Find a bus stop.

Mop your way back home.

Phone a friend. Find a phone book.

It’s by the salt shaker. Underneath the Quaker.