From November, 2017

Two Reflections

This tiny miracle The woods were dark, but it was summer, and the darkness was warm and not unfriendly. It was dark enough to hide my hand in his, twelve years old and trembling, breath catching with wonder. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed. Beautiful and kind and somehow, beyond understanding, mine in this moment. Chooser,…

The Blur

It’s been a blur. My reflection in the glass. For the last seven years. So much so that if you asked me what I looked like, I couldn’t tell you. No matter how long I stand here trying to catch a glimpse of who I am, it plays out in pixelated streaks across my mirror.…

Tiny crescents

If I die people will know because of how long my kids’ nails get. These are the 2:33 a.m. reflections of someone who has been up feeding an infant every three hours, on the hour, for weeks. I am truly beyond grateful for this glorious tribe that surrounds us. In fact, there are not words…

Amongst the grays

Don’t define your world in black and white because there is so much hiding amongst the grays. —Unknown “How old was she when you got her?” I look up from my young daughter’s partially tied shoelace to see a friendly blond mother smiling at me expectantly. It’s preschool open house, and parents all around us…

I See Myself

I see myself in the stream up the mountain behind the log cabin in the drenched living woods of the Northwest.   I see myself in the standing wheat, long and perfectly even like matchsticks. The wheat becomes waves and I am both Midwest and west coast. I am warm wind and misty rain. I…