There’s a place in the trail where all you can see is thistles and blue sky.
I climb, peddling hard, bike tires threading the rutted hillside,
the breath in my lungs steaming with the heaviness of the evening air,
legs burning, beauty blooming in my mind’s eye.
At the crest, I launch, like an astronaut, into what looks like an endless horizon, and I am free, free to breathe, to glide, to fly
through fields of purpled thistles and dried summer hay.
Around the bend, I ride, high above the lake now.
I feel like I could drift away, slip…
The garden has been abundant this week — with flowers, artichokes, tomatoes, swiss chard and lemons. We’ve had a bit of a heatwave (over 90˚F), so the kitties and I have not spent quite as much time outdoors as normal. They all have such long fur that when the temperature heats up, they love to lounge inside on the cool travertine floor most of the day.
I love orchids, but I have found them to be tricky to grow. Honestly, I think they seem to do the best when you just don’t do too much with them. Over-watering is their death sentence. And they don’t seem to like too much direct sunlight. Also, the green moss that they are so often potted with often brings in with it a weird white fungus. I’ve learned to just pull out that moss and throw it away.
This year, though, I’ve discovered that they do like to be fertilized. …
She guards the gate at the cemetery,
muscle and sinew long since turned to stone,
the bones and flesh she was modeled from
born in another era, years flown by.
What lives have passed before her eyes?
What a blink in time it must seem to her.
She’s seen it all.
If she looks just beyond the iron bars,
she can just make out the gravestone
of one Eliza Todd.
“I have found life good,” her marker says,
etched in granite from the 1800's.
But she’s also seen death come far too soon,
heard the crooning rent of heartbreak
for those ripped…
I’ve always loved Irises, because they possess such delicate beauty, but also because that beauty is so ephemeral. Their papery petals unfold into filmy petals that float on the breeze and then begin that downward drift towards the earth from which they emerged in what seems like a blink of an eye.
It’s hard to describe the scent of an Iris — almost sweet, but also earthy. It’s a bit like a hint of the rain throbs through their very veins.
The vaults and curves, swirling with leopard stripes and wildly varying color schemes, seem almost sculptural, like modern art…
My husband grew up in historical Natchitoches, Louisiana, the oldest town in the Louisiana Purchase. Established in 1714 by Louis Juchereau de St. Denis as part of French Louisiana, the community was named after the indigenous Natchitoches people.
We hadn't been back to visit his 93-year-old mother since before the pandemic, and we decided that Memorial Day weekend was a great opportunity because a lot of his family members had some time off of work. However, the airlines and the weather conspired to throw a bit of a monkey wrench into our travel plans.
Just as I was admiring the…
My grapefruit tree was prolific this spring.
And I’ve found myself reaching, every afternoon,
for my grandmother’s old grapefruit spoon.
I can still see her, an ephemeral memory
eternally suspended in the haze
of the sun slanting through her kitchen window,
haloing her, as only time and light can do,
as she sectioned her grapefruit
with that little wooden-handled
I wondered then, when I was so young,
what it would be like to have lived
The Great Depression.
A fire at the family’s trunk-making factory —
it shifted, in an instant, their fortunes
and the trajectory of…
Five years ago today, my baby girl, Freyja, came home to live with us. She was rescued from the streets when she was two weeks old, and was bottle-fed by a foster-mommy when she was young. She arrived in our lives (all 1.9 pounds of her) when she was ten weeks old.
“The healing of the mind takes place gradually on contact with nature, with the orange on the branch, the blade of grass eating its way into the cement, and the hills hidden by the clouds.”
As we begin to emerge from this time of global pandemic, many of us are realizing that we have been given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to completely re-evaluate the rhythms of our lives, the people we engage with, and the tasks we take on.
While the stressors of the last year or so have been very real, I do believe that a lot of…
I’ve always had a fascination with cemeteries. I remember, in 6th grade, when we briefly lived in Ann Arbor, Michigan while my father was doing a visiting professorship, I had to cut through a cemetery to get home from school. My friend, Colleen, and I, at first would dart through as quickly as we could. But, after a while, we began to linger to investigate some of the grave markers.
Whose life did this marker represent? What had it been like to live during that period of time?
When I was in my twenties, my husband and I found ourselves…
Photographer, yogi, cat-mom, lover of travel and nature, spreading amazement for Mother Earth, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MA Yoga, MS Neuropsychology)