• Ho, Earthling!,  Poetry Slam


    A beautiful wild dream erupted in pink-glowed majesty this morning. Rough white-tipped waves greenblueing between me and the leafy redyelloworange panoply that lay at the feet of Spirit Father as he rose through the mist into a magical glowing golden sky.   This O my father guardian of this watery green and low bluegray on weary feet. O my father this, this blink this gasp this wonder. This is why we come and sing our dreams into the graycloud skies.    

  • Ho, Earthling!,  Love


    There is something about looking westward into the waning light that makes me incredibly happy. Once I drove through Illinois under a spreading wide field of fluffy white that extended into infinity, cottony sheep drifting gallantly and with amused authority over the highways through a sky-blue background. Then, for a year, I watched purple merge with golden pink over the jagged silhouette of the Front Range, lost in Chief Niwot’s curse of the Flatirons. When the year was over I could still glimpse pinkgold over jutting mountains in my rear view mirror as I turned for east again. Then for a brief time I saw gold in the brilliant dusk…

  • Ho, Earthling!,  Love,  Magical


    Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove… In the morning I am awakened by warmth seeping in close to me, a breath, a heartbeat. I move slowly from dream into being, your heart-filled eyes inviting me into another day. Twin mugs stand by, steaming coffee’d warmth and life with each sip, feet on lap, talking of the day to come. The sun streams in through a wall of panes, inviting us to catch a scent of summer blossom through half-open door; or rain streams over, pattering, rivulets, and we two are snug inside with logs blazing into heartwarmed embers. Twin names on…

  • Ho, Earthling!


    It takes more than one hand to list the animals that have been showing up for me lately, filling the air with their song and presenting me with wisdom, perspective, challenge. [Note: I count on my fingers beginning with the thumb. How many people do that? I would wager not many. Not many Americans anyway.] One. Hawk. The messenger. Visionary power and guardianship. Paying attention to what might otherwise be overlooked. Two. Eagle. Bald eagle, off to the west of I-5 somewhere around Stanwood. Ability to see highest truth or viewpoint. Spiritual energy. Connection from earth to sky, symbolizing balance. Three. Ants. LOTS of ants. Many more than I am…

  • Ho, Earthling!,  Love

    T + D

    Time and distance. I know a place in a forest where there is a gateway to other times and other places. Step through the invisible shimmering curtain and the tall trees feel 10,000 years older, transported suddenly across the globe to somewhen. I’ve been to this place several times. Each time it felt nearly the same. Magic. Time is a funny thing. I observed nearly two months ago (!) that time had slowed down, stretching into exquisitely endless golden hours. It hasn’t changed since then. Time still moves luxuriously. Languidly. Taking its own sweet time. Seconds drip into hours. Worlds are created in a breath. There is always enough, yet…

  • Ho, Earthling!


    Fingers intertwined. Scent of winter-flowering trees. Bare expectant branches, contrasted against a muted backdrop. Verdant aliveness, sap running within, hearts beating in warm repose. Cloudburst-sated, yet wanting more, more, until waterfalls crested over mossy hillsides and the emerald turf drank a thousand years of delight. Things I love: perspective, the unexpected, golden afternoon light, lush wetness, the way colors pop on a muted overcast day. Seattle Arboretum view brought to you by serendipity, a romantic sensibility, and Hipstamatic, the second coolest app on my iPhone.

  • Ho, Earthling!


    I’m haunted this week by Colorado. It keeps coming to me in different forms and from different places, SMACK a flash of memory. A mind’s-eye snapshot of brilliant white light filling rooms from every window. Bike paths winding through chirping prairie dog villages. The brilliant sky in tones of gold and vermillion, a different view in every direction. The purple crystal heart that hangs from my rear view mirror. Freedom. Loss. He was ten that year. The cello was a natural instrument, but they weren’t friends at first. Not long before Christmas, something clicked into place. He sat taller, straighter. The instrument became part of him, an extension of him.…

  • Ho, Earthling!,  Love,  Magical

    Time stretch

    Time has slowed way down. I feel it stretching into ever-thinner spools of gossamer, strung this way and that across the myriad doorways of possibility that fill each second and every breath. Those breaths become entire new worlds, ripe with green juicy wonder and dripping with the clear cold freshness of the breath that comes after, and after that. Nineteen. I count backwards, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, until I reach the touchstone that began my realization that I have become a Time Sorceress. And with every moment hanging in stillness, if I choose for it to be so, I have infinite time to use the power of deep desire to create…

  • Ho, Earthling!,  Magical


    My good friend describes his life as what exists between the swings of the pendulum. Moving from one extreme to the other. I can relate; years ago I described my life to someone as a sine wave moving along a graph. He was pretty horrified by the thought and said he preferred to live life in the middle, escaping the extremes. The thought of having no high-highs and low-lows horrified me. I love the extremes. I live within the swings of the pendulum. My life is contrast. Once I thought that living that way meant I had to allow myself to become immersed in the low-lows when they moved in…

  • Ho, Earthling!


    Feels like I’ve been away FOREVER. Yeah, yeah, I know it’s certain blog suicide to talk about one’s posting or lack thereof, but dude. I’ve been conspicuously absent from my writing gigs, especially this one. Time to limber up the (two) fingers I use for typing, kwim? And get some grey matter out there splat on the page. Summer has hit here in the chilly, damp, pacific Northwest. I should know, because I bought white jeans that don’t even cover my ankles. I know I’m the only person in the PNW who still wears sweaters and socks when it’s 70 degrees out (why aren’t I complaining about being “hot,” wearing…