sweet seasons on my mind


I’ve been up in the trees
pruning,  p—-r—-u—-n—-i—-n—-g,  prooooooooo – ning
and I won’t bore you with how sore I am
and tired
and I’ve let too much time slip by
without even a word to you
and we can’t have that
because I miss you too hard

So let me just stick my head in the  door
and hand you these flowers I plucked quick
while no one was looking
(at least I think no one saw….there are plenty
enough and they won’t miss these few)
and tell you how much big honking hope I have
heaped up in my heart
for you


because can I just say that your song is a beauty,
unique and priceless,
and we need it,
so drop on down past the breakers
into the deep still waters inside
waiting there beneath the waves
like a secret garden
that opens to let you in safe from the noise.

Your song burns bright in there
and you’re safe to sing
and it’s rest and peace to your soul.

Yep,  there is a secret garden inside your heart
where you sing your truest songs.
I can hear yours and it’s gorgeous.

Sing a little louder if you want.



“Talkin’ bout sweet seasons on my mind
Sure does appeal to me
you know we can get there easily
just like a sailboat a-sailin’ on the sea”

-Carole King

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.