My hands, oh, marvelous hands
They are more than an instrument
For survival and instinct.
They hold what is dear.
Protect and grasp.
They lovingly clasp hands
Overlapping the fingers of another
Like a zipper
All knit and closed up.

They carry more than their weight
And sometimes I burden them
as I try to hold more
than is manageable.

They are in tune with the seasons
Even when my head 
and thoughts are not.

They reflect time and age.
There is no denying the changing
Shape and texture over the years.

They hold my pen and
Create shapes that move
Across the page.
They allow me to type and
Send my stories across
The globe. 
And with a click of a button,
My hands reach out to you.

My hands,
Just for today,
I will appreciate all you do,
Routinized and mechanical at times,
Without much thought
You are always there for me.
So today, I celebrate
and thank you.

Each Day is a Gift

I welcome my mortality.
It’s scary to share with another
Thoughts of the impermanence of life.
Perhaps it is too morbid a subject for some
And it can really darken another’s mood.

Once you hit middle age 
You begin to realize
Half of a lifetime 
May already have been lived.
Maybe one day you notice
It takes the body longer to recover
than it used to.
Like I can’t roller skate as fast as before
And my balance is a bit off-kilter.

If today was my last day to live
How would I want it to go?
What would make my final moments
Have meaning?
Would I feel I’ve lived a well-lived and well-loved life?

Or would I deeply feel the shortness of life
And the reality that there isn’t enough time 
To do “all the things;”
That there was more in this lifetime for me 
to experience?
Checking things off a list 
or a life of comparison, 
wanting what they have
even if it doesn’t resonate with you,
isn’t the point.

Each day I try to embody that life truly is a gift.
And I intend to bring that appreciation
And gratitude into all my days 
While I get to roam this earth.


What’s missing these days?

Time to pursue my creativity;
Too many distractions and obligations
That eat away my energy.
And then when it's a good time 
to do the one thing 
I most want to do,
I put it off, yet again.

In the moment,
Dusting the shelf 
just seems easier 
than writing.

Just when I’m getting myself
Motivated to start,
There’s always one more thing to do.
And that seems to take priority
Over my creative pursuit.

What’s missing?

Time to connect to myself and others.
A sense that there isn’t enough time;
That I could or should be doing more.

Although, how can that possibly be true?
What ifs, coulds and shoulds
are easy to be explain and defend
When there’s no evidence
to the contrary.

And it takes me further away 
From my desires, my dreams.
Even though I know the reasons are untrue
That I can prioritize myself,
My creativity,
My movement,
And the momentum gets started again.

Everything ebbs and flows.
Energy and time.
Winter is the season of quiet reflection
Of taking stock 
And not regret for what never was
And couldn't ever be.


The cold bitter wind
Nips at my nose and my ears.
I tighten my winter hat
Snug around my head
And walk on.

My legs stride on
Over the sidewalk
Into the street.
A biting chill enters my lungs.
I must walk on.

I marvel at my speed
And surprise myself at the
quickened pace;
Wanting to lighten the load
of thick gloves and
Puffy winter coat.
To feel warm again
To breathe steady and rhythmic.

I throw open the door.
Once I step inside
The heat engulfs me
And I sigh in relief
Unzipping and shedding
Layer upon layer
Forgetting that I’ll have to
Step out into the world
Once again
After the cold has become
A distant memory.


I marvel at the light

At winter solstice 
darkness dominates the days
And light seems
to fade shortly
after its arrival.
I marvel at the light.

At the sunrise
The neighbor’s chimney smoke
Graceful and floating
Like a dancer in the sky.

The sunset
that takes my breath away
And I linger to look
A little longer.
I marvel at the light.
Everything seems aglow
Orange and burning
Then quick pinks and purple
Gone in a flash.

Over and over again.
I marvel at the light.
I surprise myself
And take it all in.

Darkness may seem to
Envelope and surround.
And the bitter chill 
Nips at my nose.
The light that appears
is just a little bit brighter,
a little bit more alive.
I marvel at the light.

We take in the light
and create our own
Be it holiday lights
Or candlelight.
This little light 
I hold in my hand
It warms our hearts
Through and to
The brighter days ahead.

I come from there (volume 2)

I come from there
With the spark of
Light, life and love.

The light that emanates
From my windows
And the voices that echo
Through the walls
With play and song.

The seasons come
And shape the landscape.
The house is warm, aglow
Or cool and dark.

The space we occupy
And call home
On this double lot
Of land with
Double driveways
And a large lawn for
Running feet
And space for the swing.

The hearth and place
For childhood memories,
Of love and stories
Made believe and real,
For connection
And friendship,
A gathering space
For family and friends.

The house may
Be small and
Feel confined
At times
Within these walls.

But love
Rules the day
As we read
Our bedtime stories
And share our
Nighttime rituals.
We kiss and hug
A love that lasts
More than space or time
Could ever endeavor.
And I, too, am aglow
Because I belong
And I proudly
Come from there.


I welcome and open to the mystery

The mystery of love:
How precious, rare,
Amazing and alive it feels
when it is reciprocated
and shared.

The mystery of the body:
The hormones, chemical compounds,
the tissues and organs.
Each unique and together
They manifest into the whole.

The mystery of creativity:
Where a word, thought or
prompt sparks the
Imagination and
I am writing again.

The mystery of
Modern technology:
How it is new and
novel terrain 
Yet ingrained into
Every day life.

The mystery of life:
A sudden arrival
without any effort
And the path of 
Potential that 
Each life holds.

The mystery of Earth:
How our planet came to
Be in the best position
To create and sustain life.

The mystery of watching
steam float up from
my coffee mug.
The mystery of the flame
Dancing atop my candle.
The mystery of the glow
in the darkest night.

And the mystery of my role
in it all.


Remember (part 2)

I don’t remember being born
or how I came to be.
I arrived and here I am.

I don’t remember the 
very early years,
So dependent on my mom.
Her love, her safety
The spaces we occupied.

My first memory I remember
is when I was two.
My siblings and I were playing
with a plastic toy house.
My uncle blew cigarette smoke
through the second-story windows.
It was such a delight
to see the shape, the form
the floating vapors
that defied gravity.

I remember winters of
sledding down the hill
in the backyard
on my mom’s childhood
Flying Arrow sled.
The joy and momentum
of the downhill slope.

I remember our swing set
with metal frames and
hard plastic seats
that brought me to far away
places only in my mind.

I remember learning to
roller skate for the first time.
Clinging to the side wall
as I found my balance,
my courage, and eventually
my confidence to skate
on my own with grace
and speed.

There are so many 
moments that I may
not remember.
But the ones I do 
are cherished. 
And they connect me
to my siblings and
stand the test of time
as they shaped and formed
who I am today.

In darkness

Each morning I awake in darkness.
My mind tricks me that it’s still night.
But the alarm can’t be wrong,
Can it?

So I grumble a little
Then I sit up and swing my legs to the side of the bed.
I take sweet side stretches
Awakening my muscles and side body.
Only then will I stand up 
And greet the day.

I begin my morning yoga in pure darkness.
The only light emanates from my iPad
as I start a yoga video.
My personal asana practice is quiet.
Everyone else is slumbering.
They, too, feel that it is still night.
Too dark to awaken.
So I enjoy the solitude
and present moment to connect
breath and movement.

My yoga practice ends with a brief meditation.
Then I click on a lamp
so I can write in my mindset journal.
Sometimes I write about last night’s dream
Like a real, tangible memory deep in my mind.
Oftentimes, I like to write my lunar
affirmation and intention
three times in a row in my notebook.
That is my ideal morning trifecta
while the sun is still in slumber.

My favorite time of the year is when the
sun rises while I’m in the shower.
I see its rays peek behind the curtains 
and begin their path up along my bathroom wall.
If I time it just right, the whole shower 
gets illuminated in fresh morning light.

For now I will have to wait 
for the synchronicity
of getting to bathe in sunlight.
It is all right.  I can wait.
My morning routine is a constant
even when the sunrise is not.

All Hallows Eve

Out of the darkness
the dead walk
among the living.
The veil is thin and ripe.
So the line between the two
worlds is easily crossed

It’s a wonder to see
If I open my mind 
and see what lies
before me in the
present moment.

We dress the part
so that the living
may take part
in the sacred dance
to the edges
of the horizon
and to new shores.

Palm in palm we walk
in the dark
exploring with a flashlight.

Will we be surprised
at who crosses our path?

Will we recognize 
the familiar behind
the mask and the costume?

Will we run and
tremble with fear?

Can I hold the line
and be a safe haven
for the lonely and the scared?

For one day we will have to
take the one-way pilgrimage 
to the other side
and follow the well-grooved
path to see where it leads.

Tonight we pretend
that we are walking
among what is unreal
now made real and tangible.

A valley that is easily crossed
for those who open their minds
and their hearts 
and accept what lies before them
Even through a dark and scary night.