The Clock (A Poem)

How funny,
to race against
a stationary object,
as if time cares
about our projects
and our deadlines.
The clock ticks and tocks –
it does not see
or know
or participate
in the too-fast days
of our lives.
And really,
we build them that way,
don’t we?
We fight with the
never-ending turning of the globe,
like boxers in a celestial ring,
but the ring is empty,
save for us
and all of our to-do lists.
Wouldn’t it be nice,
then, to just stop –
not the clock,
but ourselves –
and insist on a slower pace?
And why don’t we?
I mean, seriously,
who ever made the rule
that busy is better?
I’d rather not be,
thank you.
I’m not mad, exactly,
but I do think this is bad.
See, the work will
be here.
But I won’t.

Ready (A Poem)

All around, I hear it:
The hum of new life –
of growing things,
buzzing and flying,
a gentle flap of beating wings,
the stir of wind through the blossoms –
this song that each year nature sings.
It seems that here,
in a season and a blur,
no more than a blink,
we are suddenly,
all of us,
ready for spring.

Trivia Night (A Poem)

I mean, sure, of course
I want to win.
But, it’s just as fun to lose
when losing is still learning
and learning is knowing
and knowledge is power.
And when I think of
how much I know now
that I didn’t know before,
I’m happy that my hobby
is a trivial kind of pursuit.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: Iceland Memories

It’s hard to believe that it’s been four years (FOUR YEARS!) since the last time we traveled internationally. And man, what a trip. Iceland was beautiful.

These pictures were taken on March 15, 2019.

I’d love to go back in the summer, since there was a lot we couldn’t see or do in winter. Maybe one of these days. In the meantime, I’ve got pretty pictures and good memories.

Friday Flowers

It’s rainy today, and cloudy and gray and damp and definitely early spring. But yesterday was beautiful, not particularly warm, but sunny. How nice it was, then, to stumble upon these little beauties in our back garden.

And how lovely, looking at them now, to remember that flowers – like days, people, cats, dogs, and old houses – aren’t all the same.

International Women’s Day 2023 (Thoughts, and Two Poems)

It’s International Women’s Day! Unfortunately, I’ve been feeling under the weather, so I haven’t done much to celebrate, and my brain feels too foggy to write something really good. So, I’ll just say this:

I’m thankful for the amazing women in my life, and the strong, brave women who came before us. I’m proud of the women who dream, and who love, and who go on when it feels impossible. We are heroes, rock stars, the glue that keeps this broken world together. If I had to choose a million times, I would still choose to be a woman, even when it’s hard and unfair. I carry the universe in me. All women do.

And I’ll share a couple of my favorite poems I’ve written in the past. I hope you enjoy them! And I hope that you tell the women in your life today – and yourself, if you’re a woman (yes, ALL women) – just how wonderful and unbreakable and valuable and worthy and loved they are.


To the Women Who Came Before

To you,
the women,
the warriors and weavers and
witches and wanderers,
the brave and bold
who came before,
I promise this:

My light will magnify your light.
I will shine because
you reached for the sky
and grabbed the sun and moon and stars
to fight the darkness.

Your words,
your courage,
your heart,
your home –
the one you made with your own hands –
will live on in me.

I will stand and speak.
My voice will carry as yours,
over the mountains you climbed,
across the sands of time
and the pillars and platforms you built.
I won’t make myself small
just to fit into the corners
of a world made and sustained
by mothers.

I cradle your wisdom in my soul
because you carved a place for it.
I will keep that place
sacred and whole.
I will nurture the fire you lit
and pass the eternal torch.



A story we’ve heard:
The first of us all
(to fall) –
help-meet and wife,
made and prized,
then punished,
removed and reviled.
The woman who
became a warning.

And history became
both judge and jury,
gave us no choice,
no voice.
The story became ours,
but it never belonged to us.
And before, and now,
down in our bones
we know it.

We know:
It is human to fall
and rise again,
to seek,
to learn,
to live in curiosity.
And so,
can we reclaim her,
weave her story anew
and see her,
this mother of mothers?

Blood of our blood –
can we finally love
(not blame)

The Year of Joy and Abundance

That’s what I want this year to be. Graham and I have dealt with a lot of loss and sadness in the last several months.

Just yesterday, we attended a memorial celebration for a good friend who died, suddenly and tragically, of CJD. It’s an incredibly rare disease – he would have had a better chance of winning the lottery – and it took him quickly. I still can’t believe he’s gone. I expect to see him, still, when I walk into his favorite bar, sitting there, beer in hand, ready to chat and just have a good time. The celebration of his life yesterday was wonderful, full of friends and food and music. He would have loved it. It felt odd that he wasn’t there. He was always up to celebrate.

I went to bed last night feeling grateful for my good health and for Graham’s. And for our life – our beautiful home, our crazy animals, our supportive families and our awesome friends. We have good things. I just want more.

This year, I want to gain, and not lose. I want to celebrate, and not mourn. I want to laugh without feeling bad about it, and smile with my whole face. Talking to some of our friends yesterday, they’re feeling the same. There’s just been so much loss over the last few years, for everyone, all over the world. And so this is what I wish for all of us:

A year of joy and abundance.

So if you’re out there, feeling like we do, know that I’m thinking of you. I’m pulling for you. I’m sending you positive thoughts and happy vibes and so much love. You deserve it.

I do, too.

Virginia Spring (A Poem)

I wanted a wintry winter.
Well, seems I might get it in spring.
It’s a funny, frustrating thing,
that we can’t rely on Virginia’s weather,
fickle and peculiar as it is.
But at least there’s this:
Foxes in the meadow,
deer under the willow,
velvet gray skies and
a fire’s crackling glow,
and warmer days ahead.
(I hope.)