The birds are loud in Colorado. I guess they know who rules the nippy air here. A handful of plump blue jays jet set through a burly oak tree. They’re like business men in suits with slicked-back hair and fancy dress ties dangling down their backs. They’re up early and at work on a weekend … Continue reading golden
I pour the morning’s leftover milk from mason jars into the cat bowl as a rare creamy treat for my felines. Nothing wasted. I shake out leftover rice and turned greens into the chicken run as eager birds wobble and gobble towards me. Nothing wasted. I’ll scoop and shovel litter and poo into the compost … Continue reading waste
As I assess the garden I find myself eager to cut it back. The fruit bushes look ratchet and hungover, but there’s still life there. It is not time yet. I resign myself to watching it fall fast asleep yet another fall and winter. As a garden keeper I understand the basic principles, like when … Continue reading pruning
Well, it seems summer is hanging on like an ex this week, so it’s my noise-makin’, wonder-filled chatterbox and me and a low creek all to ourselves. She noticed it was Girls Night Out Thursday night downtown and asked why we were not out. I promptly offered her a rain check for Friday night since … Continue reading tru
Come now. Softly. Delicately. Drape yourself like a bedsheet. Lightly. Weightless. Cast yourself like a shadow. Do not carry a single thing — simple or complicated. Nothing that bears weight shall you hold. You are being now. Not doing. No furrowed forehead or drawn jaw. Release. Drop. Open up. Shoulders sinking. Head resting. Heart cupped … Continue reading come now
There’s the faintest of droplets spritzing from above. It’s a moody misty morning and I’m happy as a lark about it. The cooler the temps, the warmer my heart. A garden spider spun a doily in the picture window as if it had intended on captivating us. It looks like a swath of beaded lace with … Continue reading misty
Life is cyclical. Seed. Seedling. Plant. Bloom. Fruit. Seed. Over and over again. And each time is a new opportunity to grow better. Wiser. Fuller. More beautiful. Continue reading sunday
The 5 am moon is still hanging; the stars still pitched in the black onyx sky. Soon it’ll fade out to a drab silver then into a powder blue. Morning will sweep aside specks of light like dusting a tabletop. And that luminous crescent will dangle seemingly too long into the day until the sun … Continue reading waltz
SHE GILDS THE LILY: a lavish waste of words and wonder 