harvest moon rise

photo courtesy of lovethesepics.com

Risen already, her pink orb
lifting through baby blue,
watery train not yet visible
in the still-waning light.

Incoming surf seeking to bring
along her offshore shimmer
just emerging between
rock outcrop and shore.

The western sky phasing
into slow haze, stubbornly
pale as if in deference
to this harvest moon’s

regal rise, her steady climb
and steadfast reliability a comfort
in our increasingly erratic



journey to peace


Hope is not a strategy
but a way of living,
letting loose what lives within
into a wanting world

a way of living rising
from roots planted
in the soil of love, twisting
outward to bear lessons

from all those years
of unfurling and return,
the unknown entered
in trust blessed

by seasons of rest
and ripening, their light
illuminating the one
thing that matters –

trust in our instincts
as nature’s creatures
sending peace ahead
of every breath.


With thanks to sister-blogger and supportive reader Philippa Rees for her recent comment in which she shared a phrase that inspired this post:

The mighty tree is alive with its roots deep in you…
Let what it sees guide you.

I spent the better part of yesterday – and it was the better part, I can assure you! – creating the collage and afterward, the poem. Thank you, Philippa, for the encouragement from afar that resonated so deeply within.

looking in from outside

woman waving behind glass

credit – superstock

Weekly, I write inside Vermont’s women’s prison with a group of 12 – 15 women. They are ‘inside.’ I can go ‘out.’ How does this feel?

After four years of this work, I have built trust and several strong relationships with many who are ‘inside’ for a long time. No longer do they eye me with the distrust of a gawker come to stare at them as if they were a rare species of bird or worse – a criminal with no name, no life, no story.

Of the many, MANY stories I could tell, one inside/outside moment remains seared in my heart even years after the event.

One Thursday evening as I was heading home late, I looked through the glass while waiting for the officer to hand me my keys. One of ‘my’ writers stood beyond. She doesn’t write with us anymore – English is tough for her and she’s severely depressed. But our eyes connected. I put my hand to my heart, nodded and smiled to her. And SHE crossed both arms over HER chest, held my gaze with palpable tenderness. Oh, the compassion that can pass through time, space, even glass prison walls – not to mention the enormous divide between us in terms of where we are in our lives . . .

Thanks to WordPress Daily Prompt: the experience of being outside looking in.

seeking hope


Credit: earthobservatory.nasa.org

I walked seeking hope
across stream and gully
through stumps and rubble,
my feet cresting a hill they knew
as path to my grove of yellow birch
bent now to the weight of felled hemlock,
no dappled shadows dancing visions
of peace and solitude

saplings exposed by canopy emptied
of venerable sentries to a world
of hidden paths, where years gone by
a blink ago my young wandered
through brambles buried now
with piled debris from saw blades trained
on diameters.

Seeking to make familiar
the rise underfoot, lost landmark
like myself, I continued
breathing deep
chancing the new
uncovered way
to guide me



from summer 2012 retreat

Tomorrow morning, a new writing circle starts. We will be a full group in our dedicated writing studio; a group of women writing together in a new combination, as it is new each season. Words recycled into new meanings, gathering us to their heart as we gather one another to ours.

As each season starts with a new group – even though every woman in the circle has been there before, never in this configuration, at this time, in this place – it seems an initiation. There is something about that first meeting . . .

Your initial impression of this group may
be uncomfortable – what with the candle and all.
a few weeks in, you’ll be holding
conversations with it. As in, ‘hello, candle
how ya doin’ today?’ This happens
because the candle has become more
than just familiar. It’s become a friend,
a part of routine initiating every circle
we hold together, a way to slow down,
transition from the rest of our lives and move
into our circle space, together.

Why a candle? Other than the obvious —
it gives us something to look at, focus on –
it represents inspiration, the creative fire; speaks
to some of us of silence, reverence, both
of which are ways we choose to open
and conduct our circle.

This signals a kind of personal
initiation as well – an entry into this sacred
circle of evolving women devoted
to telling their stories and exploring their lives
through writing and speaking their words.

Here we create a new community,
one composed of writing hands and listening ears,
of curious minds and open hearts. We share
our stories – sad, tender, funny, outrageous; we
encourage one another onward with our writing;
we let our words spread out into the broader world
so that others may in turn be inspired, perhaps even
initiated, into the sacred circle
of fire and trust.