There comes a time for clearing space,
for starting over,
for tearing out the rubble or the weeds,
and getting down to the bare earth.
There comes a time to weep in the dirt,
to lie prone in the agony of time spent away.
There has been all this time spent rushing around,
running from the quiet place, from the still,
the sacred, the place of deep knowing.
There is a returning, but not a jumping in.
There is a shudder, there is a weight,
there is grief and reconciling. The joy
comes slowly like mist rising on water.
Until, curling up and rolling over, eyes upward,
there is revelation in the branches of trees
overhead. There is wisdom in these woods.
It is time to begin again.
photo from here
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Poet/Writer - Book Published in December 2020, "Days of Soup and Holler."
Current WIP, "UnRibboning." Like field notes from a poet through mother/daughter tension, menopause unraveling, midlife, a father dying and the vigil around that. And the throughlines I didn't even realize until after the writing - were what was holding me through it all. My steady husband, my boys, the sky, our mountains, these curvy river roads.
San Francisco City Girl turned Southern Oregon Country Girl.
I write about Parenting, Lifelong Learning, Living with Intention, and Finding Beauty in Unusual Places. I seek beauty as an artist always, and share it when I find it.
Narnia beckons me. I see it everywhere: in the way light filters through trees, in forests, in waterways and pathways, in lanterns, and of course, in wardrobes. I hold tight to the Older Magic.
