Finding fresh ways to write timeless truth.
We wake to snow. Just a dusting on the hills and the rooftops, but snow, nonetheless. We were warned by the evening weather forecast so it’s not a complete surprise, and it won’t stick around so there’s nothing to grumble about. It’s amusing, more than anything. I look up at the pale blue sky that’s dotted with
My girls return home, a freak snowstorm blows through, and it’s Monday again—the last one in March and the start of Holy Week. This morning I’m pondering taxes (ugh) and watercolour and words and books and dogs and the general topsy-turvyness that is 2021. Those, and a week like none other. And, in the midst
Long before dawn I stand at the window in the den and look up at the moon. It seems especially bright and beautiful in the south west sky. My imagination flits about, and I think about the ancients and the superstition and stories they crafted around this light in the night. I expect that among these
I peer out the window over top of the blind in the den and see a cul de sac bathed in light. It’s not the artificial light of streetlights, (They’re off. I’ve never been able to figure out the schedule they operate on.) but the ethereal glow of moonlight. I knew the moon was full
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
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
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
In the sweet stillness of early morning I light a candle. There’s nothing special about a bit of white wax and a wick in a small glass container but as the flame flickers it casts a glow where I need one. Come . . . There’s nothing magical about it; it is the hope candle because
Often, I take photographs looking out over the ridge where we live to the hills and clay cliffs across the valley. You’ve seen some of them here. Less frequently, I lift my lens toward the south because it’s just not as spectacular. And yet the view from there captivates me in a different way. Early
It's Monday. The last one before we enter the season of Advent and I wake with a fresh intention to walk through this week different than I have in recent weeks. Some words spoken yesterday, by our pastor in the online church service and by our daughter in good conversation later, nudge me toward a
It’s Friday again—or is it already—and I consider pulling together another Friday’s Fave Five post but can’t muster the effort. It’s been a week. One of those weeks. A week that included a meltdown precipitated by lack of sleep, lack of routine, and no lack of overthinking. Throw in a dash of the news cycle,