Dust you are: growing small
I run past trees with limbs still winter-bare, each twig curled upward, reaching for heaven. Some days you can reach and other days your limbs are limp and the longing…
When you’re feeling stuck
"Go away! How will I ever get anything done with you harassing me like this?" I’m sitting down to write and I need a little peace. The drone of the electric saw…
When winds whip wild
Last year when we stepped through the door, the late November sun was streaming gold through the huge windows, lighting a path across the little table and straight-backed chairs in the…