Almost in the short rows…..

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.

2015-05-10 19.42.24
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.

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


heaven humming….


It’s May,
the reason I haven’t come around to visit
or posted for almost two weeks
-my marathon month….the teeeeny tiny little window of time
during which I have to
dig a gazillion holes,
muster up good soil from red clay
and tuck in flowers and veggies and shrubs and trees
then a whole heap more flowers
for about a hundred really excited-to-have-it-done-yesterday folks;
and faster,  please.


It’s May,
the reason I grin at wildflowers winking from the roadside
living out their effortless dance.
They’re so easy to be with.

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.


And to let you know I think of you as I make my gardens,
your beauty finds me even there
and whispers light and joy
and I hum your names to heaven
and smile inside where I carry you in my heart.

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


“The mere act of breathing is poetry in motion,
the art of life.
We are all artists
-our body is a brush,
the world is our canvas,
and life our painting.”

-Robert Taylor

fountains in bloom…


I’ve been pruning and planting till my bones whimper at night

but the quiet gets loud enough for me to hear
when I’m down there working busy with my hands
while my heart thumps out an easy healing rhythm
and it lights me up,  the love raining down



and it goes rolling like a river,
rolling through all the crazy-making pain that comes along
with living on this planet,
even the small stuff that squirms ugly

like the strange little worms dropping from the trees
that dangle creepy in my hair
and I can’t shake them off so my glove swipes awkward
and I wear their slime on my face
and it smells broken
and my heart nods how the stink is true

but the song rolls on truer, spilling down balm
until it’s beauty slices right through the muck
like powerful incense

and the sweetest fountain I know
catches my heart up into it’s music
and there is peace like a river

"Only reckless confidence in a Source greater than ourselves
can empower us to forgive the wounds inflicted by others."

-Brennan Manning

Sending love to Boston,   to each of you,
and releasing a river of peace
come  a’rolling  to wherever you be 🙂

Soul scraffiti

When I was a girl,
I loved carving roads and rooms and rhymes
into Autumn ground
with the crunchy art supplies
dropped by generous trees
~a whole season of scraffiti,
the sweet-smelling earth my canvas,
patterned with mystery
like crop signs
whispering delicious secrets.

I spent hours playing
in the nooks and crannies I’d created,
my imagination happily wallowing
in newborn spaces.

There were stores to keep
and castles
and cottages deep in magic woods,
always with a corral for my very own horse
(my trusty bicycle with the banana seat).
I felt fully alive scratching out my art
through masses of fallen leaves.

 Now,  in the Autumn of my life,
I still find joy scratching through debris
making art in tangled up and troubled spaces,

drawing near to chaos
and pulling out the  light,
trimming, pruning,  weeding, shaping, planting and sorting
until bits of earth are singing again,
freeing both gardens and their people
disentangled and calm.

I love it,  this sense that we’re carving oxygen and order
into spaces gone clogged with constriction.
I so dig seeing living things come unfettered,
making room for beauty to stretch out cramped legs
and make herself at home again.

Each time it feels as if deep down
in my own overcrowded places
there comes a release from more clutter
and I can see more clearly the love,
reaching out to soothe and sort the tangles in me,
leaving carvings in my soul
like those left by the paths and patterns
of my childhood rake
so many Autumns ago. 
"Such love does the sky now pour
 that whenever I stand in a field
 I have to wring out the light
 when I get home."

St. Francis of Assisi

linking up with a wonderful space,  Your Sunday Best
also with this powerful beauty.

And,  hey,  I posted this two full Autumns ago
but it still fits like a glove
and this week was too wild for words
so I’m resting deep in my paints
and letting them find me
when they’re ready.
Huge grace to us all.