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

Written by Posted in Poetry, Prose Comments 1

Some days I look in the mirror,

and am shocked by how young I look…

because on these days, I feel the length and width and

breadth of my 42 years

in my bones.


My body no longer reacts quickly to anything.

Today I feel last place up the hill-



hips and ribs moaning in argument.

It takes a century to

make my lunch, finish my workout, walk to the car.

I marvel at everyone around me

who seems to be moving so fast.


I feel the 23 years of raising children

heaviness of

triumphs, heartaches

busyness, worries, and constant movement

in every cell and muscle.


I feel days into weeks into months into decades

of need,

of no rest for the heart.


Some days I look in the mirror and expect to see

silver, thinning hair

loose skin

sunken, rheumy eyes.

I expect to see hands shaking slightly as they reach up

to touch my lips, remembering when they were


and full

and kissable.


I expect to see winter.


And yet, staring back at me is late summer.

There is color and roundness in my body

and sparkle in my eyes.

And I wonder if this is what autumn feels like –

full to bursting, putting on a show,

but knowing it is slowly moving into rest.


And I think it must not be so bad.


Believe me when I say that I like to be in control.

Those who know me well enough to keep their mouths shut might describe me in less generous terms. I like to be in charge, I like to know what’s next, and I most certainly don’t like surprises.

So when I began riding horses at (ahem) a later age in life, I found myself in a bit of a conundrum. When boosted up onto a large, flighty, sometimes unpredictable animal, my control instincts went into overdrive. I think this is why dressage appeals to female riders my age: there are rules to be followed. Tests. Timelines. Clear measurements of success. It was created by the Germans, for goodness sake. Read more…

September 25, 2015


Written by Posted in Poetry Comments 0

She is all quiet urgency.

It is autumn,

her moment.

She was born to weave




She must sense

her limited timeline,

the shortness of her life.


Her legs move quickly,


a master 0rb-weaver;


only months old,

but with pattern engrained in her brain cells

by ancient codes.


The web is delicate

moving with the slightest

breath of breeze,

hardly visible 

until sunlight touches its edges…

her touch

a pinprick of gentleness.


It is complex,

a mathematical miracle,

space, geometry, time

a perfect equation.


She has picked this spot

This moment

This September.

She will perform her duty,

the only purpose to which she is bound,

and pass.



September 22, 2015

My Name is Tempest

Written by Posted in Poetry Comments 3

I am a storm.

Sometimes a hurricane

Sometimes freezing rain

Sometimes blazing heat

or dust.


You love like a sunny day;

You love me all straight and narrow,


while I love winding and wide

with no signs, no directions.


And sometimes I’m spinning

Gales and sheets of rain

reaching miles beyond me,

stirring up the water – 


And you, with unbreakable mast,

sail directly for the center-

Not merely surviving, 

but arms open wide, sails full of wind,

head thrown back,

smiling as the drops hit your face

like the tempest is beautiful.


You point at the heart of the storm 

without speaking-

knowing its power,

condensing the energy,

pointing it in the right direction.


The heart of the storm

is the heart of me

and you’re not afraid,

so neither will I be.


deb linne


“You’re a fraud.”

“If everyone only knew_____ about you, they wouldn’t love you.”

“What kind of twisted person even THINKS that?” Read more…


Mathematically, it makes no sense at all. I’m no genius, but I’m pretty sure that:


So imagine my surprise when I realized that math does not always apply to human relationships! Read more…


Yesterday, I showed up for a workout that included 110 box jumps and 110 kettlebell snatches.

I mentioned to my coach, Lauren that I was “probably just going to do step-ups instead of jumps.”

Lauren asked, “Why?” When I told her my excuses (tired, out of shape, blah blah), she sort-of snorted and said, “Um, NO. You’re doing the box jumps.”

If it were up to me to motivate myself at the gym,

  1. I would probably be at home drinking wine and reading a book instead
  2. I would come up with a million excuses to avoid hard work
  3. I would underestimate my own abilities and settle for a lot less than I was capable of doing

Read more…


I had a bobble in my confidence this weekend. (This happens often because I have a large, but very fragile ego.) I tried a horse-riding discipline that is super fun, but that I know very little about and that I don’t ever practice. I used a saddle I don’t often use, reining technique that is quite different from my norm, and the setting was wildly different than my quiet dressage arena (it was me + 10 cows in a very small pen). Even my outfit was different: I felt like a fraud in jeans and cowboy boots, instead of riding breeches and tall equestrian boots. I love horses, but I’m no cowgirl! Read more…

September 2, 2015


Written by Posted in Uncategorized Comments 0

I cannot ignore her.

I wander outside at dawn, on a cool September morning,

and she is shimmering…undeniable in her presence,

rising above the

first orange and pink layers of sunrise,


She floats between

what is done,

and what is yet to be.

A half moon

lazily moves to her west,

wrapping up it’s work,

cool and plump and orbital;

but she is all sharpness and edges.

The heat and pressure

that make her uninhabitable

also make her the most beautiful,

blazing in intensity.

She is copper,

the mirror of the goddess:

both alluring and dangerous,

ravishing and perilous.

Look away, or worship her –

there is no way

to feel ambivalent.

She is celestial.

Unearthly, divinely feminine, heart-stopping.

She beautifies,


Portends and challenges…

and then she dissolves

and merges with the

power of the sun

until I need her again.

I look at her and I awaken –

I have an instinct to burn

and radiate

and love.