June 2023

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I have just said


Ridiculous to you

And in response,

Your glorious laughter.


These are the days

The sun

Is swimming back

To the east

And the light on the water


As never, it seems, before.


I can’t remember

Every spring,

I can’t remember



So many years!

Are the morning kisses

The sweetest

Or the evenings

Or the inbetweens?

All I know

Is that “thank you” should appear



So, just in case

I can’t find

The perfect place-

“Thank you, thank you.”

Mary Oliver



Let me begin by telling you that I was in love. An ordinary statement, to be sure, but not an ordinary fact, for so few of us learn that love is tenderness, and tenderness is not, as a fair proportion suspect, pity; and still fewer know that happiness in love is not the absolute focusing of all emotion in another: one has always to love a good many things which the beloved must come only to symbolize.

Truman Capote



Heaven greeted a sweet girl last Friday, my cousin Stella. She was everything a body could want in a human being: independent, funny, sweet, with just the right dash of mischief.

She had a rich interior life, nearly always joyously wiggling, flapping, laughing, and singing. The story, the thread, a near constant unknown, yet felt by all. Her joy, her curiosity, her wonder on full display, boisterously filling rooms.

I do not fully subscribe to the edict that everything happens for a reason, especially in regards to the death of a beloved child. I firmly believe, however, that Stella entered our lives for a reason. She arrived at just the right moment to show us how beautiful and vibrant a heart and spirit can be, regardless of ability. How we can simultaneously be in our own world while lifting others. How to seek delight in unexpected places and always manage to find it. How I loved her for it and will greatly miss her sharing it.


in time of daffodils (who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why,remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so (forgetting seem)

in time of roses (who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if,remember yes

in time of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek (forgetting find)

and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us free)
forgetting me,remember me

e.e. cummings


Mindlessly gazing into the dark Sunday rain, nearly bedtime, a torrent enlivens the gutters. My body soft, a deep pleasure-filled stirring at distant thunder and the infinite patter of drops. Come morning, there will be no need to water the seeds I am hoping to sprout.

Then violence. Blinding light and sound AT ONCE. No counting for distance. Now, now, now. Shaking the house, my insides, my bright mood of a millisecond earlier.

All is dark. Greg and I stumble dumbly about for solar lamps, gazing out the window and watching our neighbor do the same. We hug and reassure. We ready for bed and the hope of power and a morning of hot coffee.

With gratitude to the expediency of dark of night workers, it arrives. The coffee steams. We stay in motion.

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