Category: Gratitude

Shell Theory

  My praise is but the catacombs of waves the stuff of ant children and young sunflowers. Waves speak quieter than I, and go much further. I wave, the whole earth grows— how my arrogance is so!

Celestial Gala

  Cosmic harmony dances upon toes, & the sun which sweeps arm hairs to spring bouquet, (so fit for a gala) keeps time.

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A Week of No Trash

The mission: go a full week, from Saturday morning until the following Saturday, without placing any item into a bin, either a rubbish bin or a recycling bin. Alter the lifestyle for the week to be one where throwing away something isn’t necessary. This looks like: Eating the entire apple, sans the stem, so I wouldn’t have to throw away the core. Saving the … Read More A Week of No Trash

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A Walk on the Beach in the Evening

  Sun shades ripple over black ant dunes and I, cast, with earth toes spread uneven relaxed am tall and small and quiet. My hair, golden unkept electric the rogue wind calls my soul responds.

Shadow Dance

  As I nap in the currents of undiluted ocean with its vibrant sea salt cleansing my salty soul, I notice: I am taller here. Cast long, with the shadows uninterrupted by anything– my shadow is graceful and still and I wonder: what might she be thinking?

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Composting

When my body wakes me. It’s still dark. I open the window above my bed. The whispering dawn snuggles down. Down into my hair. Down into the space between me and my sleeping bag. Which I sleep in despite the closet full of sheets. The whispering dawn lifts me out. Out into my running shorts. Into my cheetah print bandana. Into my bright blue … Read More Composting

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Half a Year Away, Away (and Happy 300!)

Half a year has gone by since I left Kansas. I’m still learning various currency exchange rates and the metric system, so still going strong (relative phrase). Relativity is a fickle friend. If I think on some of the travelers I have met—Liz and Hadyn in Assisi, who have been backpacking the world since summer 2016, Sara in Mostar, who traveled alone for three … Read More Half a Year Away, Away (and Happy 300!)

Warmth in a Morning

  I wake up the long way this morning: my fire reflects last night’s hearth the ashes cold the glass remembers. Cold cuts grow like cast iron Sundays & I find it so easy to blink slow.

Tiny Rain

  Soft, tiny raindrops fall to kiss my skin and the whole earth tingles, like I’d fallen asleep with my arms tucked in and now they’re waking back up, like birdsong on a rowdy day reminding me the danger is gone, like this peaceful prompting from my waterproof self that I am here and listening. This tiny rain is so much more than refreshing.

Uphill

  I don’t mind walking uphill when it’s cold like this even with the headwind marking my progress the heart beat pump warms my veins from within. I stop in a sunlight spot and breath so deep.

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Aestheticism

  I take the espresso outside and tuck myself in the corner on a wide metal seat at a small wooden table. The air about me is forest fresh, and brings hints of the rain which thumps the streets beyond this awning.

Sunlight Spotlight

  Seagulls sound like happy goats and naked babies tickle toes in the water; the first day of spring in the bones is a good day indeed for a picnic with my bare knees. The duck, with feathers slicked from quick dips looks smooth and skilled like a snake, in the water. I perch on my rock ledge wearing my wild hair listening to … Read More Sunlight Spotlight