• Just Life

    A Tuesday Haiku.

    speeding through errands when I pause for a moment compelled to look up. I see sun filtered through a canopy of red. nature’s beauty in sharp contrast with the asphalt beneath my feet. in my head. I don’t think there is any haiku tradition with this 3 verse style – but the 5-7-5 x 2 + 7-7 rhythm seems like the right fit … so I’m calling it good. and done! Happy Tuesday! and p.s. to my gardener friends – these leaves look like oak leaves – are they supposed to be red this time of year?

  • Just Life

    Inexhaustible Supply.

    Today is Poem in Your Pocket Day (thank you, Kym, for the reminder!) Here’s the one I’m carrying with me today. Inexhaustible Supply There is no distance, after all, between the heart and the object of its longing, no gap between theory and experience. It’s all here in easy reach. This isn’t a secret teaching, locked away from the uninitiated. Ask, and All That Is responds. Knock, and in some corner, a door opens. Pray and the day is different. Like fruit at harvest time, love is mine for the gathering and giving, always an inexhaustible supply. The only proof of this is in living as if the source of…

  • Just Life

    A Tuesday Haiku.

    another day home quiet, but not alone with Holly by my side Thank you for all your get better wishes (more than once!)  I have high hopes to leave the house tomorrow for a dinner out with Katie and Sara and I’m even hoping I can wear makeup! It doesn’t hurt to dream big 😉.

  • Just Life

    Tuesdays are for Poetry.

    yep, still… I’d planned a different topic for today, but then on Sunday morning, I heard a few lines from this poem and just had to share it with y’all. For context, here’s a photo from Katie’s wedding that Sara shared on Instagram with the caption “Who says they don’t dance…” Obvious evidence to the contrary 😉, we don’t dance; I’ve often wished we did. Every Day We Are Dancers  It begins with the lewd macarena each of us performs in the shower, then the modified twist we are hip to with that ever-absorbent partner, the towel, and on to the funky chicken of stepping into underwear, the shimmy of…

  • Just Life

    Tuesdays are for Poetry.

    Today Today I’m flying low and I’m not saying a word. I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep. The world goes on as it must, the bees in the garden rumbling a little, the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten. And so forth. But I’m taking the day off. Quiet as a feather. I hardly move though really I’m traveling a terrific distance. Stillness. One of the doors into the temple. – Mary Oliver (from A Thousand Mornings)

  • Just Life

    Tuesdays are for Poetry.

    Such Silence As deep as I ever went into the forest I came upon an old stone bench, very, very old, and around it a clearing, and beyond that trees taller and older than I had ever seen. Such silence! It really wasn’t so far from a town, but it seemed all the clocks in the world had stopped counting. So it was hard to suppose the usual rules applied. Sometimes there’s only a hint, a possibility. What’s magical, sometimes, has deeper roots   than reason. I hope everyone knows that. I sat on the bench, waiting for something. An angel, perhaps. Or dancers with the legs of goats. No,…

  • Just Life

    Tuesdays are for Poetry.

    from this morning’s walk – couldn’t resist the tumble of colors Memory You can’t stop turning it round and round, stained glass shaken and fallen thought the kaleidoscope of years — every twist a patterned whorl, story of petalled flowers or shattered world — and if you keep turning, another tale unfolds, kind or cruel, same facts mirrored through other minds, other times — and every refracted look is another life, this handful of ruby and emerald shards. – Robin Chapman (from Six True Things)

  • Just Life

    Tuesdays are for Poetry.

    Today’s poem is from a slim volume I bought in Sitka. The author owns the Sitka Rose Gallery, our first stop on the artist walking tour. It’s always a treat to buy a book directly from the author (and I’m thinking this one, which doesn’t even have a Goodreads entry, is going to be my micro press selection for the 2017 Read Harder Challenge). From the author biography in the back of the book: Eugene Solokov was born in Russin in 1964. He immigrated to the US when he was thirteen. He spent his teenage years in New York City, and received his BA in History from Georgetown University in…