Black Locust

I sit on the fraying, overstuffed couch beneath the living room window of my summer eyrie. This has become my favorite place to be–lying on my back with a book open across my knees, my feet up on the back of the sofa. The evening flowing in with the breeze, shifting slowly from warm to…

Hosanna

Everything feels fragile. The air feels fragile. The earth feels fragile. My body feels fragile. I’m not sure if I’m hungry, or tired, or anxious, or cold. I’m certain the ground is still below my feet, but I’m not certain if the sky is still above me or if it has come down to hover…

Na-vaer

Readers of this blog will likely be aware of what an integral part of my life, and especially my childhood and college years, the works of J. R. R. Tolkien are. It’s been a while since I’ve ravenously sped my way through the War of the Ring in a few weeks, or sat rapt in…

Nine

My Grammarly app is telling me the tone of this piece is “Sad,” so, oops about that. This wasn’t intended to be a new year post–it just happens to be January 1st (barely), and this just happens to have been the topic on my mind for the past several months, and I just happened to…

Let It Be Enough

We gather in the big studio in the morning. Outside the windows, the world is made small by the blizzard, flakes falling huge and slow in the alley, bright against red brick and the graffitied chimney stacks of the building across the way. Inside, everything is warm brown wood, thick sweaters and socks, and the…

Autumn Wishing

I went back to the Quarry this week. I swear I could still hear our music there. The flute’s enchanted breath, the rich hum of accordion lungs, rising from the water. I thought maybe I imagined it–it’s easy to hear things wrong, from the top of the observation deck with that great liquid bowl beneath…

Sometimes We Stumble on Sadness

9/5 for Kara I never wanted to see you here, your empty hands and hair all fallen down around you, soft, this fine veneer I never wanted to see. You here, all orange and gold and braced for fear, too out of place, too late to turn around. I never wanted to see you here,…

Quarry

I had thought the water would frighten me. Five hundred feet deep – a depth I can’t wrap my head around, can’t picture or imagine – impossible to see the bottom or anywhere remotely near it. Walls straight down, a sheer drop, no gradual slope or wading in. Just – ground, and then not. Granite,…

The Brink

All summer, I have felt poised on the cusp of a memory I can’t quite place. I have found bits and pieces of it, here and there, over the weeks: in the turning of the valleys from grey-blue to green, all in a rush of sunlight; in long drives on familiar roads, special roads, with…

I Am Free

Holy Week begins with water and fire. On Palm Sunday, I wake up in the dark to the rolling of thunder, echoing around and around these mountains that ring my city in, a sound that seems to go on for whole minutes before dying into dim, rumbling whispers and going out. It reminds me of…

Shepherd and Sugarmaker

There are two ways to know it is spring, on my farm. The sap begins to run, and the ewes go heavy into lambing. These things don’t always begin in the same order, but they belong together, and almost always overlap. My father says maple syrup is the first crop of spring. My mother says…

Ashes to Beauty

March 6th, Ash Wednesday This post is coming to you a day late and a dollar short, as per my usual style–with both blog posts and Christmas gifts (yeah sis so I still have your gift sitting on my desk uhhhmmmmm its March now yep). — On the morning of this first day of Lent,…