Simply soaking……

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In all of your tired places,

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your wilted spaces,

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feeling weary and parched and needing fresh graces…..

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I sing your heart the sort of rest that feels like this:)

A good long healing soak.

“I drank the silence of God
from a spring in the woods.”
-Georg Trakl

(It gives me joy,  just so much joy,  to send a copy of my July Ripplesongs
to the beautiful Gwen Lily)

What I’ve been grazing and grooving on……

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I’ve been squeezing the last drops of juice from January,
the one month each year that sometimes feels like vacation
because our gardening business settles down for a long winter’s nap
and I can throw myself more into projects I’ve been saving for the big quiet
but this year has been cheeky,  as the sap is already rising,
and so I’ve been hours in the trees,   pruning,
and I’m sore from the hard and cold and a stiff sort of sleepy.

My blogging process looks a lot,  in my mind,   like gardening and cooking;
I tend what’s growing in my heart,  writing down snippets and making bites of art
and then gather the bits into bouquets
or cobble into soup or salsa or pie
to serve up fresh and in season here every week
(a small lyrical café,  I imagine:))

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but I’m a wintery sort of tired this week up here pruning away
(and I skipped a week already,  didn’t I)
so I’m going to serve them straight up,  the munchies I’ve been grazing on,
the clippings of what I’ve been loving (like turnip greens and their sweet baby roots).
Feel free to snack on the whoosh and whisper of it all:

 ~ There’s  fierce beauty in spending less than we make.

~Urgency is rarely true,  and is always a lie when it’s compulsive.

~ We are –  all of us  –  lovely to God
(don’t let shame hiss at you otherwise)

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 ~  “Hope is a conclusion we stay in
as we hope our way through hopeless circumstances.”
-Robin MacMillan

~There is something profoundly and deeply right with each of us.

~it takes me back home to the healer of my heart,  whispering in the cold,  brave sunshine
how Love walked right into this thumping ache of mine,  went tenderly to the room
where I feel broken,  and moved in bearing balm and comfort and courage
and “where does it hurt?”
and when the wind outside was howling chaos,
became the greenhouse where my fiercest flowers grow.

~ “…the air a library and the record of every life lived,  every sentence spoken,
every word transmitted still reverberating in it.”
-Anthony Doerr’s  All the Light We Cannot See
(potent read and a terrible beauty)

moody blog
 I'll soon be down from the trees and back in my heart's kitchen,
 stirring up something hopeful yummy to serve
  but didn't want to go silent so long so here is my little offering.
Much love and light and lift to your astonishingly beautiful heart - xoxox
(little drawing to give away a copy of my February issue zine,  Ripplesongs;
 leave a comment
 and your name goes in the fuzzy hat)

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In every twig and twinkle….

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In all of your magic making,
yes and no saying,
errand running,
carol humming,
burden lifting,
option sifting,

picture taking,
merry making,
sky gazing,
crowd braving,
memory building,
how-in-the-world-ing,
hassle having,
heart salving,

 truth speaking,
quiet keeping,
sniffle tending,
love mending,
clutter busting,
mystery trusting,

card sending,
time bending,
idea trying
instead of buying,
storm weathering,
family gathering,
stocking stuffing,
trust for enoughing,

list making,
breath taking,
one-more-thing-ing,
just keep singing…..

-deep breath-

please remember
that even with dirty popcorn ceilings and wobbles and whoopsies,
your rustic handmade love that isn’t polished or perfect
and the gag reel of your life that sometimes isn’t all that funny,
you are,
without excuse or disclaimer,
LOVED.
In a big way.

I hope you can feel it this season,
the love that surrounds you in every twig and twinkle.

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“May your coming year be filled
with magic and dreams and good madness.
I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful
and don’t forget to make some art
-write or draw or build or sing
or live as only you can.
And I hope,  somewhere in the next year,
you surprise yourself.”
-Neil Gaiman

I’ve loved these giveaways and wish I could do it always and forever
for each of you
(this week the winner is Relyn of Come Sit by my Fire.
You’ll be welcome and glad if you do)
You mean a whole heap to me,  each of you.

An unlikely gift….

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There is something new growing in my gratitude garden this year,
this odd fruit of  thanks for the  crisp,  clear gift of anger,
the way it tolls like a bell
when we need to stop and pay attention
to the sound our heart makes when it needs to be heard above the roar,

shaking and quaking that something feels false
and needs tweaking,
some line needs clearing,
some part of our voice needs hearing,
something fuzzy needs sorting
till it’s shiny and singing true.

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It’s a gift and a grace to get angry and I’ve left it often unwrapped,
trying to walk off the burn
instead of letting it whisper it’s wisdom
and lead me back to my dislocated parts,
to healing and gathering me whole again.
There’s this sweet,  wild smell about it all.
a freedom  for my heart kind of thing.

It’s joy to finally recognize something as gift
when you’ve spent too much of your life apologizing for it.

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“Bitterness is like cancer.  It eats the host.  But anger is like fire.  It burns it all clean.”
-Maya Angelou

I’ve been celebrating some of the sweetest gifts in my life
this month,
those of you who read and take the time to leave a comment
(pure joy to my heart,  those).
Each week I’m drawing a name from those who stop and say hello,
just a little giveaway….a happy surprise package,
a sort of love bomb:)
(This week I drew the name of beautiful and dear to my heart
Anne Camblin.)
I’ll be drawing another name on Saturday.

those smiling eyes…

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There is a table where I’ve waited
in the corner of my heart,
where this girlish hope peered hard
for hurried, anxious eyes to stop and meet with mine,
and it felt sometimes like starving,
wishing they’d look at me and smile.

Somehow I learned to worry that maybe the heavy thing
that dragged the sparkle from those eyes
was me.

So I tried to help harder
and care harder
and work harder
and wait harder…

thank God it doesn’t work:)

Because another’s mood isn’t our mirror,
their struggle doesn’t say who we are,
their feelings  aren’t our portion,
and this dark table in the corner
isn’t where we have to spend our precious days
so I’m painting,  re-purposing and moving it on out,
into the light,

and it seems as if someone has opened a window
(was that there all along?)
and swirled drops of breeze and sunlight
into some closed off spaces
and it feels like my first taste of ice cream,
and I breathe sweet that the grin that I’m hungry for
is shining deep into my heart from my own smiling eyes.

(this little patch of words is simply
about self-care and soul-tending
in some of  the weedy parts of my garden.)

“I am not referring to acts of love,  kindness,  compassion,  and true helping
-situations where our assistance is legitimately wanted and needed
and we want to give that assistance.
These acts are the good stuff of life.
Rescuing or caretaking isn’t.”

-Melody Beattie

I’m taking this month of August
to rest my soul
by writing more
( I know,  not less…..go figure)
and coming around daily to post
the stuff that’s stirring in my heart.
You’re oh so welcome to drop in when you can.