happy birthday, little zine……

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I can’t believe it’s been a year since I patched together and sent traveling
my first little batch of Ripplesongs,  a handmade zine I cobble together each month
with a whole heap of love
to savor and  share.
Frankly,  I don’t sell many at all……mostly they find homes with people and places near and dear to my heart,
like handmade bouquets I pluck from my garden.
It feels like setting up a farm stand each month and laying out my produce and flowers;
I get as much joy from the whole glorious mess of the process
as I do from seeing the finished product all ready to shine.
If someone comes around to buy,  well I like that.
When they don’t,  it’s still crazy-joy to scoop it all up and give it away.
Either way it feels like Christmas morning:)

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Why?
Because I want to pour you out a river of breeze,
to gather you a bouquet of sweet,  soft lay-me-down moments
and hold this sense of relish like a seashell to your ear
so you can hear the whisper in your wounds
because I think maybe that it’s the sound that healing makes

because I feel it so strong inside that you are the priceless art,
more beautiful by design than sea or sunset or gossamer wings,
that there is precious little balm to waste in the hard flee of time
and I choose to share the salve I find
because I know that living can stone you sudden till your heart rattles pieces
and hope can get upended in the tumble

 

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and when you find a well that keeps on giving
your heart stretches out wide and thumps love so ebullient
that it reaches and offers and speaks.
You just want to share the shimmer from the waves you’re riding,
the blooming from your field of dreams.

This is mine.
It may not be “successful,”  as some would say.
But it makes my own heart sing
and you’re free to help yourself to as much as you like:)

love rain down
” Earth’s crammed with heaven,  and every common bush afire with God.
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
the rest sit round and pluck blackberries.”
-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Feel free to browse over some of the pages in each month’s zine over here at my very unkempt little etsy shop,
www.Ripplespeak.etsy.com
Dismal empty right now,  but that will change shortly:)

I

Only love can make it rain….

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Standing in this cathedral of wind and wild things,
feet planted easy in a field that sings your name,
I cheer and then go quiet because it’s right inside
that I feel your heartbeat thump with mine
and I don’t need to hurl words high to be heard;
when I’m still I feel your sound
like a low,  healing bell
and again I fall soft into the quiet of your love.

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And even when dear ones seem to be sinking
and I must let go and trust them to stronger hands than mine,
when debt squeezes tight and I can’t slip free the coils
and the pain finds it’s way into my body and thunders hard,
there is a freedom, still,  so fierce and untiring
that it won’t be worn down.
It lifts and buoys and breathes back the air
that the crazy can suck right out,
breathes it back into me with every sip of truth
so I can go on and live big anyway

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and we can,  you know,  stand even here loved and safe and cared for so big
that the pain can’t steal it away,
this love that doesn’t quit or condemn or withdraw or manipulate;
just leans in open,  with a holy grin,
and so we,  too,  can live big and open and grateful and true
in a powerful peace that keeps pouring down wholeness
on every place where we let go and let dance in the rain.

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“Only love can make it rain
the way the beach is kissed by the sea
only love can make it rain
like the sweat of lovers layin’ in the fields

Love,  reign o’er me,
Love,  reign o’er me,
Rain on me,  rain on me.”
-Pete Townshend

I so wish I could send a zine to each of you beautiful people
but I drew 5 names and am oh so happy to be gifting one to
Sandra Ludwig, Kathy of Paper Pumpkin,  Julia at Of Petals and Wool,
Elephant Child and Brenda Thebeau.
I’ll try and send you messages to say.  Much love all around.

Summer go softly….

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It’s good to be back here again,
to settle back into the gentle rhythm that I love
and let my swollen fingers walk soft across the keyboard
in the lingering way that I’ve missed.
I’ve felt homesick for the quiet of it all.

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It’s been a swirl of change and ache and beauty and stretch
and I’m grateful that we’re free to walk in whisper
when words feel unready to be said.
I like letting ripe happen.

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I haven’t many words today
but have a handful of fresh,  summery zines
that I’d love to give away.
If  you leave a comment,  I’ll plunk your name into the basket
and draw 5 or so next Sunday.
I want to share the bounty of my garden with you:)

“One of these mornings you’re gonna rise up singing
And you’ll spread your wings and you’ll take to the sky
But ’til that morning, there ain’t nothing can harm you,
with Daddy and Mammy standing by.”

Summertime and the Livin’ is Easy
(Ella Fitzgerald)

Song for the weary…..

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There is a place
in each moment,
a soft,  gentle space for breath
to unfold slow
and deep and safe,
where ample rest welcomes and waits
like a tall glass of lay-me-down
and it whispers welcome
to every lift and settle of my heart.

And there is a stream there,
a place for tired feet to go bare against cool,  smooth pebbles
glimmering songs of here and now and love that fills
and of rest that presses it’s weight against the weary of me
like honeysuckle kissing evening air
and it nourishes and calls
and I can answer if I will.

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Cause sometimes I wreck this heart by rushing,
wanting to flop down into the finally of having everything wrapped up done
and it’s crazy how my mind can wedge me into stories that steal away my peace
and set me to running from rest,
flying scared because I get to thinking
that it’s the push and squeeze that saves me.

Some days I forget to remember
to respond to the living rest
that lifts me from this weary way I sometimes keep,
to remember that
rest is a brave place to be.

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“Love turns work into rest.”
-Teresa of Avila

I have missed coming around to visit you!  I’ll be climbing the steps to your porch
in a little while.   Big wide spaciousness to each of you,  friends,
with a whole heap of love.

Almost in the short rows…..

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It’s May,   the reason I haven’t posted or come around to visit for awhile,
the marathon month for Rivergreen,  our small family business.
May,  the tiny window during which I dig a gazillion holes
and muster up soil from red clay and tuck in flowers and herbs and veggies and trees,
painting the earth with living art
in this small slice of time
before she turns up the oven quick and begins to bake the clay of my designs
into the gardens they’ll be for the long growing season.

It’s May,  the reason that I grin tired thanks for the wildflowers
winking from the roadways as I drive along dirty and sweat-soaked
and going in a hurry to the next somewheres that I’ve also gotta be.
It slows the too-fast of my heart to watch their effortless dance.
I love how simple.  How easy.

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I’m a little too pooped to write;
just want to share their smiles with you
because really they have their own way of saying
and it’s all too sweet and sacred to bungle with words.

I think of you while I’m down there on my knees,
you know,  humming your name to heaven
and smiling thanks for the gift that you are.

I’ll be back with more soon.
I’m almost in the short rows.

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“The art of deep seeing makes gratitude possible.”
-Ann Voscamp