Autobiography · Poetry


Cathedral Grove” © Bradley Davis, 2008. CC BY-ND 2.0.
September finds us holding
fragments of past months.

We search out a forest, green space,
somewhere lush to plant them.

Trees and grass we can walk to,
untouched by the traffic,

by the ever-present whine
of the endless energy cities spit.

Over and over we’ve asked
what’s missing,

but never stopped to wonder
if it might be nothing.

That we might be overflowing
instead of empty.

Longing for the quiet.
The stillness of rainforest.

The song only evergreens,
moss, mushrooms,

and our broken hearts know.
In the cold, wet air

they sing it to us
and we can finally hear

ourselves echoing it back.
Pulsing empathy.

“I know you. You belong here.”


Red, white, and green

"White-Pine-Aurora" © Charlie Stinchcomb, 2005. CC BY 2.0.
White-Pine-Aurora” © Charlie Stinchcomb, 2005. CC BY 2.0.

Last night I had a series of dreams that woke me up at six o’clock this morning, drenched in sweat and clutching my chest. Deep breath. Deep breath. Okay, you’re okay. I splash cold water on my face and curl back into bed with Mason.

The omnipresent list of things I need to get done today starts its march through my head, but I stop it. I remind myself that it’s a holiday. I did all the cooking yesterday, Mason’s gifts are wrapped and under the bookshelf. Today there is nothing pressing. Today is just for breathing, for loving, for peace. Continue reading →