Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte

Haiku: Malingering

Snow welcomed me home
Muse remains in Mexico
Watching bright moon-set


Time Traveling

Abundant memories like post cards in a drawer
Souvenirs remind me of once-upon-times
Bewildering exhausting thoughts swirling around me
Leave me truly feeling that I’m lost in space

I’m packing my suitcase to travel to Mexico
Yet one more time after twenty good years
The flight a challenge to my flagging energy
Can I pull it off once again?

New wrinkle this time – I don’t go alone.
A call from my brother-in-law
Asking me about laundry
Put things in perspective

Later that day walking home from the grocery
Mundane moment the sort that is suitable
For mulling and musing and hoping for answers
Then voila! one arrived when I opened my door.

I breathed in bright energy from the present moment
The space I inhabit is filled with Now.
This is my anchor, the place where I start from
Who knows when or where I will fly?


Writing 101 – Home Furnishings

Duchess Goldblatt writes, “Home is a person. If you are lucky, home is yourself.”


A few years ago I moved from a three-story townhouse I shared with my former husband to a two bedroom apartment just big enough for me. I carefully selected furniture that had accompanied me in two previous moves to begin another incarnation of my life.

I brought two blue glass bottles and tiny figurines that were my mother’s before I was born. I brought amber glass hurricane lamps that were a wedding gift to my first husband and me. I brought a tall, narrow teak bookcase that was my second husband’s which I had used for my books in our townhouse. I brought a Victorian glass-topped table with intricately carved wood beneath the glass. This came from my grandmother’s house in Alabama and sat in her parlor. I brought a desk that was my son’s in high school. I brought a picture of a cowboy riding on a dusty road that reminded me of my father who was from Texas. The things I brought with me represented every place I have ever lived. They tell me stories. They encompass my history. When I return home from an hour of running errands or a two-week trip, I put my key in the lock, open the door and breathe in the essence of home.



Traveling includes an inevitable returning.
Feeling I’m back home takes its own sweet time.
Key turns in the lock, door opens to rooms
I know by heart. Suitcase in the hall,
Stuff to unpack I’m too tired to tackle.

Then piles of mail, emails unending, bills to pay
Require attention while my body’s still mending.
I feel enfolded by familiar space, and wait.
My trip was exceptional. I’m so glad I journeyed.
Now I seek peace and time to reflect.

Today is different. I stretch and move slowly
Content to do nothing, no deadlines in sight.
Sensing transition while washing lunch dishes
Absorbed contemplating their primary colors
I found myself lost in thought and back home.