Compost, joy and gumption…..

My heart hurts. Bad. And I don’t want to run from the pain or hide out in false places, but I’m not going to sink down into the ache and go dull to the salt and sizzle of living,  either, so I’m hurling clods scraped raw from the clay that I am like bottle rockets exploding thanks,   setting fire to the night,…

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Of poetry and sand….

I’m smitten, fresh in love with the sweet,  tender brilliance who designed breeze and feathers and muscadine grapes and the way sunlight dances on water and calls to the questions in me, calls them churning and tumbling from my muck into the soothing,  sorting flow of a cold river running deep and true, whispering me awake…

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a bouquet to believe in….

It seems the world is smoldering in pretty poisonous lies and my soul droops a little weary, heavy with all I can’t trust. So I made a list of what I can and it lit me up inside and grew my peace to see just how much I can wildly believe. I believe in seeds…

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the music of me….

I want to believe in rest, the kind that found me on the mountain ~ soft and supple and scary to step into like fog on the ridge that would surely give way if I lay down the heaviness of me. Rest is so like trust that way. But I wanted rest…..needed it my molecules…

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Coming into canopy, again….

Crispy and cluttered and coming undone I come, crawling into the lap of love, my “what if”s coaxed into caring,  capable hands. and I go calm as living breezes croon over me soft with kisses of courage and nuzzles of comfort -this love is clever enough, doesn’t even need my strength, just wants me, my…

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