Spoons and wounds and the words i couldn’t say…..

We played a game when I was young where a handfull of spoons was fetched from the kitchen and placed loose in a pile on the table, always one fewer than the players gathered ’round. Like in musical chairs,  we would dive to grab a one with a certain turn of hand, and the one…

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Can’t wrap it up pretty with a bow….

I’ve been flummoxed,  wanting to offer you a fresh bouquet from the gardens I’ve been tending, about watery melons and milk thistle tea, wildflower honey and coppertone on a breeze. It meets some sort of primal need in me to create beauty with words and pictures,  to share the light streaming in from my window and lean…

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