This pen feels heavy and this thumb and forefinger are attempting a sit-down protest. To write it is to make real that which wants to remain a dream. When asked, “How are you?” Dad used to reply, “I think I’m OK, and I hope I’m not lying.” I don’t want to lie either, but the ground keeps changing as my heart keeps breaking. Words are clumsy when trying to give names to the liminal space between love and sorrow. Continue reading Fertile Soil
To begin is to change, to put away the things that no longer serve and to step into the unknown, unfamiliar. My intention for this year is to open, to opportunities and people, especially people. There has been too much confinement in my life. I’ve limited who I see, where I go, and as much as possible what I feel, trying to modulate my emotions … Continue reading Intentions
I’m not certain what I’d like to begin this year, but I do know what I want to end. And if I start at the end, it should lead to a beginning. Continue reading Dedicated To The End
