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:)
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
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:)