the car stops.

two legs step down.
four legs jump down.
feet (& paws) on the ground.
relief.

the leash comes off.
freedom!
nose in the air, he runs down the sandy beach,
further & further
until
she can fit him
on her index finger.

he looks different somehow.
head
higher.
back
straighter.

when he finally returns,
when panic has made her voice
hoarse,
her mind
dizzy,
she hugs him in relief.

what were you doing?

i was pretending i was my own dog.

beauty is the sound of a milkweed lament
throbbing around a singing fire
and life
echoing through a whirlwind of elastic fireflies.

may the earth support you.
may the sun warm you.
may the wind whisper good night to you.
may the stars light your path.

may you receive your deepest heart’s desire.
may you see the sacred in everything.
may you know that you are love.

on this, the first day of the new year – and always.

for my atlas pup, my family, my friends;
for kindhearted strangers;
for snow-covered pines, wild apples, autumn leaves, wildflowers;
for a roof over my head and food on my plate;
for capsule wardrobes, plaid scarves & fedoras;
for lilacs, cranberry bogs, clover, daisies;
for lake superior;
for clotheslines and gardens;
for savannah, benjamin, lars, lily, andrew, brady & sam;
for lattes, ice cream cones & homemade pie;
for lavender + pale pink sunrises and heart-shaped rocks;
for my four niece-kitties;
for warm smiles via skype, long hugs & even longer conversations with old + new friends;
for postcards in the mail and real life shared;
for toes in the sand, snowshoe hikes & icy dips in the lake;
for bonfires on the beach and sunday afternoon games;
for the northern lights, the milky way & orion;
for owl feathers, shed antlers, baby foxes, dragonflies;
for farkle, fantasy books & candy crush;
for a blue jay named fred and a chainsaw bear named buddy;
for yin yoga, snow scoops, squats, hilly trails;
for unexpected moments of delight, wordless truths & finding yourself where you are;
for bravery, truth, trust, surrender;
for wisdom, inspiration, compassion, peace, beauty & wonder;
for love – in all its forms;
for you;
and for so much more.

i am thankful.

one flower
for a playful wink.
one flower
for a loving kiss.
one flower
for a heartfelt wish –
that you feel truly deeply completely safe & adored.

may the birds sing to you.
may the wind walk with you.
may the earth support you.
may the sun, moon & stars shine upon you.

the light in me honors the light in you.

good morning, good morning, good morning.

i come from the far north,
where the wolves howl,
trees stand straight & tall,
and winter snow blankets the earth in silence.

i come from the great lake,
where sturgeon swim in crystal-clear water,
waves tickle the shoreline,
and the horizon stretches to infinity.

i come from the wild,
where dancing streams turn into cascading waterfalls,
bears devour tiny berries,
and autumn blazes a trail across the land like wildfire.

i come from the night,
where the aurora dances,
the milky way beckons,
and the ink-black sky glitters with stars.

The wild (upper peninsula of michigan). my heart. my home.

{sending heart-felt appreciation to the soulful + poetic liz lamoreux for the prompt: i come from. try it!}

maybe
you have a tiny voice
in your head,
a voice that whispers,
you are all alone;
no
one
cares;
you don’t matter;
there’s no way out;
the situation is hopeless.

maybe
the voice grows
and grows and grows
until
it seems like all there is.

i wish
i could tell you
how to silence that voice.

i
don’t
know
how.

what i can tell you is this:

when the voice is so loud
that it brings me to my knees,
when the voice is so loud
that i can’t pretend
to be strong
or try
to be strong
or be
strong
anymore,
when the voice is so loud
that i think it will finally break me,
i have
no choice
but to let it flow free,
until i am empty,
until there is nothing left in me.

in the emptiness, i finally find peace.

and haven’t we
all
felt despair?

and hasn’t
it brought us
to our knees?

and haven’t we
gotten up again
and done
what
needed to be
done?

here is what i have learned about despair.

it comes in like the tide.
there might not be solid ground to stand on.
there might be a steep cliff in your way.

it’s easy to believe that it will never end,
the waters will never recede,
you will be trapped there forever.

but then, the tide goes out again.
you find a small treasure
left
by the sea
on the sand:
driftwood,
a piece of seaweed,
a seashell,
a smooth stone.

then there is this:

maybe –
when it seems overwhelming, when it seems like despair will break us –
we are connected to
everyone
who has ever felt despair,
everyone
who is feeling despair,
everyone
who will ever feel despair,
and somehow,
somewhere,
their hearts are holding us gently until it is over.

light doesn’t have to be big and bright and bold to be powerful.

a tiny flame – can hold warmth and wonder.

a tiny flame – can calm the mind, slow the breath, and soften the vision.

a match.
a candle.
a flick of the wrist.
a spark.
a flame.

and then there was light in the darkness.

{if this sings to you, i invite you to join me for hope floats in winter. let’s find the beauty in the cold & the dark & the snow.}

in the grassy savannah,
a lion
lifts up
his head,
opens his mouth,
and roars.

on the other side
of the world,

a girl – not yet a woman – feels
a whirlpool of emotions
tossing and turning
inside her.

it is uncomfortable but familiar.

she wants
to lift up her head
and roar
and let it out,

but she doesn’t
know
how.

she is familiar with silence,
with worrying “what will they think”,
with nice and safe and good.

and yet,

there is a wildness
within
that wants
to be unleashed.

not the fierceness of
“i will eat you.”

but the fiercely loving
“i will stand for
all that i am and
all i can be and
all that i know.

and i will stand for
all that you are and
all you can be and
all that you know.

because i am
the lion
and the savannah
and the entire universe
and you,
and we are all part of the beauty of everything.”