When the air goes humid
and the foliage lush
I dream of my childhood bedroom
in the back corner of the house.

The three paned windows open wide
the Great Attic Fan roaring
A lullaby of crickets and cool air with
aromas of magnolia and honeysuckle.

A memory rooted deep in my core.
I love you childhood. I love you southern summer nights.

Sunday Snapshot

I’m learning to play ukulele
In furry slippers
Seated on the front steps of our home.

The dog is a step down
Stretch out and napping in the sun.
His ears jut back when I hit a chord wrong.

In pots beside me are the herbs we planted
Basil, cilantro, lavender and thyme
Adding their ambrosial perfume to the tune.

The protective, surrounding trees listen
Tall and swaying
Lush from the rainstorm

And my soul is fed.

Bird on a branch
Water on a leaf

Music and quiet
Lightning and rain

A friend who is
a sister
a mother and
daughter

Love, life,
A flame

Light and loving
Pure and sunny
Bright and blissful
Likes bees and honey

Pinks and yellows
Fling of giggly
Springtime joy
Pure femininity

Declutter your heart.

Let the leaves fall and die.
They can keep you warm for a while, but eventually must be blown away.

Break yourself open and
Let your blood flow
Frigid and awake like a melted avalanche
Or scorching and slow like molten lava. 

Open to joy even when you don’t understand it.
Let your muse be a muse,
No questions asked.

There is no normal or specific,
just a life and a love and the living. 

Pink, a playful invitation

Red, a liberation

Blue, sadness released sky high

Green, steady as a tree

Teal, expansive as the sea

Black, a velvet blanket

And white, empty and free

The complexities of you

Are written in the palms of your hands -

Deep grooves and dynamic shapes

Earthy callouses and endless layers.

picking up
where I left off.

same soul,
new boots.
skin shed
raw heart,
realized potential.

mended and secure.
committed to companionship
and the innocence within me.

A moment set in stone

Time placed on mud

Baked into forever

A piece of my heart sits on your kitchen windowsill

Reminding me of who I am and what l've been

Did you notice the stars in my eyes when saw it?

These days memory feels few and far between

But when I see pottery that l've formed, scribed, and colored, I recall all parts of the making and memories surrounding it.

Walk the path

Make the journey

Take the detours

Circle back

Each time with an evolved landscape

And remodeled equipment

Past potential and resting in full, luxurious bloom you will find motherhood - the summertime of womanhood. With or without a child, a woman can become a mother. The passage is painful and scarred. Society says a mother is confined to blandness and four walls. Contrary, she is full bodied and self assured. No longer striving to delicately fit into a man’s world. A mother is full of fire and earth, ready to give and receive. She knows what she wants and gets it, knows what she has access to and gives it. A mother is a divine force of love and purpose.

Devotion is
The discipline of learning and
Exploring
To such a depth that
Love of the practices, stories, and knowledge are baked deep into
The core of your soul.

I’ve run into lost parts of myself

Surprised because

I didn’t realized I had pushed those aspects away.

I worry that I don’t have the capacity to reclaim the forgotten pieces and keep a ground in the roots I’ve laid.

Am I tender enough?

Have I adequately expanded to

To accept myself as I am and stand strong in the reality of life?

When I get lost in the thought of

Who I am

I remember that I am still the girl

Whose heart overflows when she looks at the sky

Or senses a thunderstorm

Who takes a while to open up, but notices each moment she’s given the chance to do so

Looking to be steeped in an embrace of life through love and nature.

Push and pull.

Give and receive.

Open and grounded.

Expand and protect.

Rest and action.

Work and play.

What you do matters

To one soul or more

You radiate; soft and warm.

With Love baked in;

Sweetness sprinkled on top;

A bow gently secured around.

Keep going,

One foot in front of the other.

Swift or slow; honor your rhythm.

Give yourself rest;

Offer others space;

The flow will carry you.

In the same way I shift and change as an individual, the way I care for, accept, and validate myself does too. All I can do is my best to keep up.

I am still learning

to give myself

a daily dose of rest

Even when it feels like

I don’t need it.

I am still learning

to take a few steps back

first.

I am still learning

to be gentle with

myself

When I miss the signs

and end up desperate.

I am still learning

what it means

to be a stable force

Incomplete, unfinished, and attentive.

The push and pull

Ebb and flow

Together and apart

The rhythm of existence is

Crooked

And smooth

Skinny and wide

Perfectly unfinished.

Full of love, life and luster.

To swing is to be in rhythm.

Suspended in time.

Held but still weightless. And free.

Tethered and trusting.

Flowing and flying.

Feeling a force that you cannot see.