May 2012

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Do not interrupt the flight of your soul; do not distress what is best in you; do not enfeeble your spirit with half wishes and half thoughts. Ask yourself and keep on asking until you find the answer, for one may have known something many times, acknowledged it; one may have willed something many times, attempted it — and yet, only the deep inner motion, only the heart’s indescribable emotion, only that will convince you that what you have acknowledged belongs to you, that no power can take it from you — for only the truth that builds up is truth for you.

Soren Kierkegaard




3:15 on a Friday morning.

The sky a-glimmer with stars and one half-eaten moon

A peach of Allman Brothers or Eliot fame

– Half a life left –

All that has come before, moments savored and lost.

The ruffling of feathers, picking of carrion, soaring on high.

Caw, caw, caw

Thirty minutes in the dead of night.

The useless prayer to ward off the inevitable

reverberates and infiltrates

to the open-windowed innocent below.

3:17 on a Friday morning

Pondering the peculiarity of a crow cawing in darkness.

The frailty and panic and her own half-eaten peach dripping in the starlit sky.

They are the same.

The stillness

the greying

the joy

the loss.

The promise that is now.

A lullaby before drifting off again.


Colleen Sohn

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I would like to say something clever right now, but the photo better represents my state of mind: a tad blurry and wonky with questionable subject matter. I shall blame it on the sun and walking and talking and laughing, especially the latter two.

Catching up with this man from my teenage days, Pat, and getting to know his awesome wife, Molly, and one of the sweetest dogs with a head bigger than mine, Valla. We’re in Forest Park here, on the climb back up to the car where we, more accurately, Valla, decided we all needed to rest. Pat commented at the absurdity of a dog bred for life in Africa should start to overheat in Portland, of all places. Pat is like that, clever expressions dropping right and left and making us all laugh, even those of the naughty and perverted variety. I decided that he’s the only person I know that can make almost anything dirty sound funny and bearable, like that scene in Three Men and a Baby when Tom Selleck reads about boxing.

Spending time with this pair was like stumbling upon treasure, where you can’t believe your luck that it was right there, ripe for the picking, and now it is yours. I’m so glad they were in our neck of the woods.

That’s the hubster accidentally sneaking into the photo. He met up with friends who hadn’t seen him in a while, whereupon Darin shouted, “Holy shit, it’s Grizzly Greg!” at the beard and took a photo to send to his wife. Actually, I don’t know that this is funny anymore, despite my chuckles, so see paragraph one.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Happy Birthday, Allison!

Congratulations to fellow writer K.B. Dixon for the 2012 Eric Hoffer Book Award Honorable Mention!

This is what it looks like in the garden this morning, the ceanothus a veritable explosion of purple and teeming with bees, the peonies near blooming, grass that heavenly shade of green.

Paris makes her rounds, squinting at the bright light while Milo chases squirrels, coming perilously close. Though when I ask what he would actually DO with an arboreal rat, he gives me that empty look and sulks off like the teenager he is.

The iris are blooming, and the wild strawberries run riot over the south yard.

I love Spring…


“Leroy bet me I couldn’t find a pot of gold at the end, and I told him that was a stupid bet because the rainbow was enough.”

Rita Mae Brown


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