The sound & fury of electronic foul-ups & poor service. A Hero arrives to save the day. Then peace...like after a train roars by.

And when it's all done, it feels like such a miracle, like birthing a child. It's so hard to believe I had a major part in creating it.

Can we honor our common grief, our common tendencies to slide into all-or-nothing in the aftermath of these terrible traumatic events?

There is a lighter side to Le Guin, however, which she shared in her lovely four-book Catwing series for children.

In the aftermath, writing about gratitude and mindfulness seems kind of callous, even frivolous. Or perhaps naive. But it is not.

Perhaps I can truly hear the small things that I, personally, can do to help shift the balance from fear and hatred to love.

There was a whir of wings, a little flash of grey and white, and a tiny bird landed on the outer edge of the deck. We held our breaths.

Some of the sweetest times I've had with another person are those in which we simply sit near each other, without the need to speak.

Loosen, fingers, loosen your death grip on this very day. Open to the atmosphere of open, drink in large draughts of clear.

The tides of life and creative energy thrive in these liminal spaces, whether they are in the world, our hearts, or our relationships.

After all these years I'm still amazed when those minuscule seeds grow into plants hundreds of times bigger than their infant selves.

There are deer, birds, foxes, wildflowers and more. But you have to look. Lawrence looks with eyes that see things others tend to pass by.

All that I hoped to say in books, all that I ever hoped to say, is that I love the world. E. B. White

"He was the most charming man I’ve known, and he got that side of himself into his writing."

This is a bit odd, I thought...Of course, you can pick my experience to pieces logically if you want to. I'm choosing to take it as a gift.

In the artist's journey these inner fears often *are* the Threshold Guardians: I'm not a good enough. This is stupid. Nobody will like it.

Puddle-wonderful: the unbuttoned delight--and the wistfulness--of early spring, in two poems and some photos.

The boy is nervous about wild animals that might be stalking around outside. Yet when he hears scratching at the door, he opens it, a bit.

What really caught my attention was a photo of a wolf. Especially the eyes. Intense. Deep. Totally present. Totally alive.

Two poems about loss & hope--one from a grand river, and one from a small creek in the wilderness.