Poetry Monday

We go to Costco to buy popcorn. And more. Always more. After deciding I don't need them I loop back and pick up a yellow box of Dad's Oatmeal Chocolate Chip cookies. (48 individually wrapped packages containing two cookies each.) Because school lunches. And childhood memories. When we get home I brew tea and dip

Dare I Dream?

Dare I dream that the green on the back lawn will grow larger with each passing day till it takes over and the white is nothing more than a memory? Dare I dream that this year will be different from the last and the slippery slope will level off so we can move on not

This is January

I'm taking part in a 20 Minute A Day writing challenge with Story Circle Network where we write for fifteen minutes, edit for five, then send what we've written to our accountability group. This morning, I wrote a poem and thought I'd share it with you.   January 4, 2022  Low cloud, feather-like flakes falling,

What if?

What if? What if the birds put the word out that three of the past five summers have been different around here? Nests burned fledglings perished and cries from fleeing fauna and flaming flora left indelible impressions on avian brains. So they put the word out. To those who migrate: don’t return. Find another, safer

It’s Hard to Rest Easy

We wake to news of evacuation alerts and orders and reports of what hungry fires consumed while we rested. It’s hard to rest easy. With daylight comes updated reports of the monsters consuming our forests and communities. We don’t want to look, but we have too. We’re glad for wind that cleared smoke from our


To tell you the truth I’ve lost track of what’s burning, what’s out, what's under control, and what’s growing; of evacuation alerts and orders and which of these have been rescinded. Here’s what I know. A whiteboard hangs on the wall in our laundry room between the clothes dryer and the pantry cupboard. We use

Summer, 2021

The smoky ghost of summer present settles in, looking like it wants to linger. Unbidden, unwanted, stealer of things we longed for during the bleak mid-winter of 2020. Gray dawn, apocalyptic sunset pretty in one sense, tragic in another. Ash on the green beans and unused patio chairs and geraniums that I water every day

The End of the World

It’s a busy day. I get many things done, but not everything intended. The world doesn’t end. I take a break to put pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, read a few pages, and finish my book. These, knowing I’m leaving other things undone. But the world doesn’t end. I eat half an egg salad sandwich