Reader, Thinker, Writer, Lover.
July 2015
July 29, 2015

White Hot

Written by Posted in Poetry Comments 0


Everything is full to bursting.

The trees cannot hold one more leaf

and the air is so thick

I swim through it

like molasses.

Stillness.  Heat.  Swelter.

Life is slow and ripe,

the grass is high and the corn is higher.

Everything tender or fragile

long ago disappeared;

now stands the heartier thistle

and sage 

and goat weed.

To get even a small breath of cool air,

I rise at dawn and sit in the morning,

the leaves rustling in the cottonwood

with a slight breeze.

But even the earliest eastern rays are strong,

they portend scorching hours ahead.

I try to remember February, when I couldn’t imagine

ever feeling warm again.

Now, at the peak of summer,

I can’t remember what cold felt like.

And my thoughts are bulbous

and heavy and ripe,

like summer squash which

feels a lot heavier than it looks…

yet I can’t hold these ideas;

the shimmering white hot sun

makes them dissolve, 

running like water through my fingers

before I can make sense of them.

So I find some shade

and take a bite

and let them ease down my throat 

like bitterroot 

like honey.


A good horse. A good dog. A good pick up truck. Yep, that about sums up my contendedness today. Is happiness really that simple? Or is it elusive? Is happiness a trick question? An equation to be solved?

Because I’m really gifted at overthinking, some days l tend to complicate it. I treat it like a formula, something like:

(6Fa + 3Fr + 1N)2Fu /t Read more…


Man, he’s a little snorty and fussy today.

Wow, he sure is muscular. Yikes. Especially his running and bucking muscles.

Oh, look at that. He pinned his ears at the saddle.

Speaking of saddles, why did I decide to pursue English riding again? There’s nothing to hold on to if things go wrong… Read more…


It can be uncomfortable, the turning over of the heart’s hard soil… painful, even. After all, transformation almost always comes at some cost.

Consider the field; its soil resting, but also fallow all winter. It must be mechanically tilled to allow the nutrients to penetrate its depths and prepare for seed. Read more…

July 7, 2015

Be the Joy

Written by Posted in Blog Posts, Poetry Comments 1

Dear Woman,

Even a weed knows to turn its face towards the sun. The dandelion looks east and the Lamb’s Quarter opens its dark green leaves to allow the light to touch every spot. The wild sage fills the air with the music of its scent when warm. They instinctively look for brightness, seeking warmth on their faces, and they turn it into air.

And so why do you seek out the dark? Dwell on the sadness? Why do you stand in the shadows of trouble while it blocks out the light?

Tomorrow worries about itself. Never fear that. People will still shoot each other and say horrible things about each other and there are plenty of people to gleefully report this on a 24 hour news cycle.

Tomorrow doesn’t need you to worry and fret and be squashed by its ugliness; and neither does today, for that matter.

Today needs you to find the nearest flower or weed, observe it, and orient your face in the same direction. It needs you to pay attention to the lovely, the miraculous, the tiny bits of art in the quiet places.

It needs you to sing like the robin and float above the chaos like the clouds, cooling what is overheated and sprinkling cool rain drops on what is parched and making shapes at which children will laugh and exclaim.

The dust and dirt kick up and choke those around you. But you, dear woman, are a crisp drink of water, infused with lemon and honeysuckle and apricot, cleansing the palates of the thirsty.

Do not be a stone, sinking into the sand, being dragged down by the gravity of the universe.

Be the bubbles rising joyfully in the glass of vintage prosecco, tickling the tongues of those who dare to take a taste of you.

Seek joy. Allow joy. It’s ok.

July 2, 2015

Written by Posted in Uncategorized Comments 1

What do you say 

when you have that one friend

who regularly dies

and then rises again?

Who smiles when it rains,

And rains when there’s sun,

And her work of being sparkly

is never quite done?

Who’s annoyingly competent

At everything she tries, 

And who’s laughter can brighten

the darkest of skies?

I look at her often

and think, “Sheesh! What a gal!”

Is it really real-life

that SHE’S my best pal?

She’s a Corporate Cowgirl,

A Zombie Superhero,

And I’m pretty sure, lately,

she wears a size zero.

She’s gorgeous, she’s bossy,

But I bet now you’ve guessed it,

I’m super darn happy

That Jaydubb’s my Bestest.