roots of something real….

What is your deal?  I mean,  how can you be so up?”
Anyone ever asked you that?

I don’t deny ugliness and injustice,
oppression and cruelty and horror,
that the false walks around puffed up and defiant
and honored often as genuine and good,
that leaders often lie and the lonely often hide
and the walls we keep between us shield us mostly from solution,

and I grieve where money is power
and pretense is importance
and service isn’t noble
and children ache with unmet need
and become parents who pass down the disease.
No,  mine isn’t the bliss of ignorance.

blog 3

I’m marinating more in the muchness of hope,
the kind that isn’t false or tricksy,
in the fierce,  capable goodness of creative Spirit
who gave us this planet to steward and love,
living Love so willing to be lavished on thick,
longing to be invited into the chaos
(I’m thinking God has healthy boundaries….nothing toxic there)

I’m believing in something more,  something stronger
something thoroughly alive,
Light that swallows darkness and does amazing like it’s easy.
It’s real and relational
and I joy more because
I believe
there are  seeds of restoration
in every surrendered shitstorm.

Nothing is beyond redemption.


“I want to unfold.
Let no place in me hold itself closed.
For when I am closed,  I am false.”
-Ranier Maria Rilke

the soft soil of eden….


Hello Summer just begun and year half done,
large friendly hum of the warm breath of morning,
a freshborn season for loving and squeezing,
and drinking deep of long days turned ripe and jeweled
like the pearly mounds of berries at the farm stand
fresh picked and still mottled with earth


hello rolling skies and silky rays painting dusk with soft sighs of rest,
lilies and wild things breezing along the roadways
and love songs and light shows riding on the clouds,
cool water splashing fat drops of mercy and tugging the too-hot from me,
joy, and lift and belly laughs,  sweet bath of sunshine and sea,

hello rustle of green and willow and blanket spread beneath the trees,
for soaking and sifting and basking and being
in the places inside where our  hearts are still tending
the sweet, soft soil of eden.


Really,  I hope this season is a hello to restoration
in every way your heart is wilding for,
some fresh sweet freedom in your wanting-spacious places.
Yeah,  I hope Summer splashes you good:)

“Hello,  sun in my face,
hello you who made the morning and spread it over the fields….”
-Mary Oliver


I’ve got 5 happy little packages wrapped and ready
for the 5 names I drew
(I wish I could send one to each of you….will offer another giveaway soon with Ripplesongs July)
Please message me with your addresses, dears!
~Amanda Fall,  Simone,  Wanda,  Lynn Wilkinson,  and Anita.
Love and smooches all around.


feathers in the sand…


I left it alone in the corner for awhile,  my guitar.
Well,  for 7 years or so,  maybe a little more.
I just stopped playing after the operation that left my arm gimpy
and a dull  mad settled down inside.
I learned to use scissors again and then paint and doodle
and even dig and prune and row and throw the ball hard
for the dogs
but my guitar gathered dust and silence
and held her tongue about it.

Maybe when I lost the calluses on my fingers
they slid down inside
like a stone bruise to my heart
and when people would ask
I said I just didn’t play anymore
but what I really meant was that I wouldn’t sing those songs
and don’t go there
because the loss is stuck in my throat.


But I couldn’t shut her away in the closet
or stop rubbing the years from her face
or keep the songs from singing themselves anyway.
Life  kept tugging them out and love gave them wings
and the music rained down still
until the mad cracked and broke apart
and healing washed in the way it does
and just after Christmas I gave her new strings.

And how does she nestle so solid in my arms
and take me into hers as if nothing has passed between us
and unfold her haunting beauty
and that sound that stretches my heart wide open
sending me deeper into wonder,
farther into love
and isn’t that only what I ever always wanted?

And now somehow a door got opened,
the one that slammed shut so hard on my wing
that I had to put her down
and I’m finding the songs again
like feathers in the sand.


“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
take these broken wings and learn to fly
all your life,
you were only waiting for this moment to arise.”
-The Beatles