Finding fresh ways to write timeless truth.
I’m joining in with a group of writers for Five Minute Friday where we’re given a prompt (this week it’s SUNRISE) and write for five minutes about it. Sequestered, as I am at this time of year, under a Sherpa blanket and with a sleeping Yorkie on my lap here in the den with its south-facing
I’m thinking about this weeping willow tree this morning. It lives in a park on the other side of the city—my favourite park in the area, one fat with memories and history. Over the course of forty years, I’ve walked in it and wept in it, ridden a bike along its paths, cheered at my
I dream I’m in an airport I’ve been in countless times between flights on my way home. It’s odd, for a number of reasons. I don’t have a ticket, for one thing. I know there are hours before the flight so I’m just reading in one of the lounges. The thought occurs that I’d be
Once upon a time, not so very long ago (though it seems like a lifetime has passed), it was a simple thing to drive down the hill from the neighbourhood where we live, turn into the strip mall, pick up a few sundries from the pharmacy, and stop in at the grocery store for a couple
Murphy and I are in the den. He is curled up and snoozing on my lap while I read and lean in to early morning solitude. In the distance I hear the hum of a phone vibrating, and a ringtone goes from barely audible to loud. Sigh. I pick up the sleeping pup and we
That I am optimistic enough to attempt to pull together a post for Friday’s Fave Five this week is a statement in and of itself about the lifting of the metaphoric fog I’ve stumbled around in for months. As Martha would say, “It’s a good thing.” So here we go. A pedi. For years, going
Yesterday was my birthday, but we don’t make a big fuss about birthdays around here. “It’s just another day,” I say every year. When I was very young, I felt a certain glow on my birthday, but I’ve had enough of them by now that the sheen has worn off the occasion. There are still
For a time I watched the moon. Rising, as is my practice, in the wee hours, I stood at the window on a succession of days when the night sky was clear, and grounded myself in its movement and crescent shape that was thinner every day. The cacophony of the world at large, silent. The
I entered the new year wrung out. Empty. With little desire to tend to start-of-the-year things that ordered my days in the past. So I didn’t. in the morning I got dressed in my “daytime pajamas” and leaned in to the meditation of holding my pup in my arms and piecing a jigsaw puzzle. Hour
It’s my habit, during the last week of the year, to reflect and set intentions. To make a list of my top ten reads. To choose a word for the coming year. To tidy up files and create new ones. I’ve done some of these things. But mostly I’ve wandered and wondered and tried to put
I’ve always enjoyed Boxing Day. It’s quiet and low key—a day of books, jigsaw puzzles, and leftovers. This year Boxing and Christmas Days look much the same, but still there is a sense of exhaling this morning. A hint of reflection and intention with a measure of rumination. There are things to do, but not yet.