If I wrote a love story, how would it begin? Long ago, when my world was full of chaos and I longed for peace and security, I opened a book and fell headlong into it. The noise around me subsided; questions and worries fell away. The world in which I carried so much responsibility and […]Read more "A Love Story"
Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what you really love. —Rumi I want to tell you about running in the early morning, stepping away from the house and heading up the driveway, a quarter-mile long. To run outside in the early morning began as an idea and then became a commitment […]Read more "The Stronger Pull"
The sun sets today in eleven minutes. The sky is overcast, and even on this more temperate day — for last week was bitterly and unseasonably cold — it is cold outside, and November dark. A month ago, hiking in the Fertile Sand Hills, I could not imagine this day. In mid-October the trees were […]Read more "Another Year Is Gone"
It is the end of October. In one short month, autumn has peaked and closed. The mornings are dark and cold. The evenings are short and shorter ushering in the long winter nights to come. I have located my snowboots and showshoes, my hats and mittens, my scarves and heavy pants. I have inspected my […]Read more "The Universe Is a Procession"
I drove to Rydell National Wildlife Refuge early Saturday morning. The sky was overcast, the air was cool and heavy with moisture. Rain drops pelted my windshield periodically, testing, I think, a forecast that promised sunny skies after recent heavy rains. I drove on, challenging the sky to change my plans, which it didn’t. Soon […]Read more "Let Me Go"
Jim Harrison wrote in his poem, “Time”— Time sinks slowly to the deepest part of the ocean, the Mariana Trench. She’s tired of light and there it’s pure black…She feels abused by clocks. They were never meant to be. She preferred us drifting through our lives like clouds, without dials, machinery, alarms, riding her like the […]Read more "Time"
Lately I sometimes think I am done writing. Days and weeks pass, and I find I have nothing to say. I ask myself, “How can this be? I read. I write journal entries. I compose letters. I venture outdoors. I photograph.” In spite of the stimulus, I find I think and hear nothing new. My […]Read more "Journeys Without End"