"My great-aunt Alice, Miss Rumphius, is very old now. Her hair is very white. Every year there are more and more lupines. Now they call her the Lupine Lady. Sometimes my friends stand with me outside her gate, curious to see the old, old lady who planted the fields of lupines. When she invites us in, they come slowly. They think she is the oldest woman in the world. Often she tells us stories of faraway places.
"When I grow up," I tell her, "I too will go to faraway places and come home to live by the sea."
"That is all very well, little Alice," says my aunt, "but there is a third thing you must do."
"What is that?" I ask.
"You must do something to make the world more beautiful."
"All right," I say.
But I do no know yet what that will be.

Saturday, July 25, 2015


The light streams through, something bright, something new.
The air whispers in, something sweet, something true.
The yellow, the green, the sheen, with golden hue.
The nights twinkle and fade- day winds back into blue.

The excitement of looking forward and behind...together...its you.

Saturday, October 18, 2014

The time space leaves.

There is time for times.
There is space for spaces.
There is room for rooms.
There are leaves to leave.
There are figures to figure,
There are pieces to peace.

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

what comes from above?

I watched the sky above
Waiting for clouds to send anything but love.
I looked up waiting to fail
Waiting for the hail...
The darkness of clouds, the billow, the roll
Waiting and watching for a storm that never would toll

I watched the sky above
Waiting for mountains of love
I looked up beaming with success
Waiting for....
The sunshine, the pop, the fizzle
Waiting and watching for a glow and no drizzle.

But the sky doesn’t produce love, success or failure.
No matter the season, all the sky can produce is weather.


Ghosts of silver and shine
Ghosts of oak and pine
Gracious ghosts of what I thought was mine.


“The land is settling into an easy evening, and into that season where everything that has risen up prepares to fade and fall, this death blanketing last year’s death.  The land is at ease with the idea of mortality.  But the sky...cumulonimbus clouds are stacked and banked to the stratosphere, and the lowering sun has bronzed and brassed and blushed them.  These are clouds that make you long for wings.  
-Michael Perry, author, Wisconsin-ite, father, nurse

Monday, June 9, 2014

Oceans between

We are standing with an ocean in between
Even when you can’t see me I’ll be waving.

Sunday, February 9, 2014

The season will change

Edges of light.
Torn, ripped, strands of light bending through
Edges of night.
Bold, heavy, hands of night deep and blue
Somehow the light is shining true.
Somehow spring is showing through.