tiny moments (and everything in between)
When I look out the window, it looks wintry, the colors pale, the trees like skeletons. But I’ve seen daffodils along the highway, I’ve seen crocuses on the outskirts of town, the baby daffodils out front are peeking through. Around me, I see hints of the fullness to come. We have what I feel sure is our … Continue reading the bucket
It’s rainy, it’s sunny, it’s warm, it’s cold. I stay inside, go outside, curl up, stretch out. I watch the news, teach yoga, talk to family and friends; I bake chocolate chip cookies and bread. There is dismay, disbelief, connection, creativity, a turning inward while being called to look out. This week holds a bit of everything, it holds … Continue reading wanting more
Suffering is not new. And yet, when the newest wound, the freshest cut, the current scene plays out before me, it comes crashing down, squeezing my heart, knocking air from my lungs, weighing my body down, pressing me closer and closer to the ground, as if to remind me to root into the Earth. Ukraine. The people … Continue reading suffering
The birdfeeder is empty, the suet gone. Yesterday morning, a feathered friend—a woodpecker or chickadee, I can’t remember which—perched itself on the suet feeder, looking (to my eyes) forlorn. I feel as if I’m letting the birds down. I know they’ll find food elsewhere; still, I feel like I need to hold up my end of the bargain: I … Continue reading weaving
I almost cry so many times this week. Poems are finding me. Teachings are finding me. Conversations-at-just-the-right-moment are finding me. Kindness is finding me. I am not looking, but there they are, offering themselves. And so I almost cry so many times. And then I do cry. The air is crisp, the sun gloriously bright. There’s nothing else to say on that account. It … Continue reading melting
I write a list of times that I’ve been brave. I almost don’t write the list because I’m afraid I won’t have anything to write. But, in a moment of bravery, I put pen to page. I write one thing and then another and then another. I fill the page. Maybe I’m brave after all. Early in the week, there … Continue reading brave
I am writing, writing, writing. Lists and questions and rambling scribbles. Which sounds rather friendly, don’t you think, rambling scribbles? I like the sound of that, the freedom implied—at least to my ears, my eyes, my heart. The freedom to carry on as long, or as short, as I like. To write with abandon, messy or neat, little or big, insightful … Continue reading ridiculously lovely
There is snow, then ice, which makes for heavy and tedious shoveling of a not-short driveway. The saving grace is the four of us, shoveling in unison. The air is crisp and cold but our bodies are warm and we are strong, especially together. I am keenly aware of opposites this week. The cold, the warm. The wakefulness, the … Continue reading just snow
I stall on a creative project. Not because I don’t like the project but because the ideas in my head are tangled and I’m too impatient at the moment to bother untangling. I will need to sit soon and get to the untangling work, watch for the string as it loops through here, winds around there, will … Continue reading ready
I never take off by myself, but I tell my family that I need to be alone. I crank the music and drive back roads, stopping to take a picture of cows who look my way, then return to their business of standing in a wet field munching wet grass. From the cows, I head to a … Continue reading yes
Michelle GD 