I’ve put off writing about this for a while, now, but my time for that has grown short. Two weeks ago, my husband and I found out he’s been hired by the church he has been interviewing with since the summer. It’s located in central New York, some five or so hours from our home…
Help Us
My friends, in my last post I mentioned that one of the hardest things of this summer has been the news that my beloved ballet studio is closing. The horrific flooding in Vermont destroyed our summer performance season, leaving the company with no money to pay the farms who support us, to pay our own…
Summer Grieving
This was supposed to be a good summer. My last summer in Vermont. It was supposed to be idyllic. It was supposed to be fireflies and stargazing, camping and hikes, dancing in the fields, sunsets and long evenings, warm skies and wildflowers. It was supposed to be gentle. It was supposed to be beautiful. It…
Hokusai Says
The following is one of the pieces I wrote last year and never posted. I began it in September of 2022, a quarter of the way through this deployment and right after finishing the Quarry Project (if you’re curious about what that was, I encourage you to check out these posts. I’ve written about it…
It’s Been A Long Year
Hi friends. It’s been a while. A long while. I’m hoping to get back into this space a bit more regularly, though. I miss it, and writing here has always been good for me. Goodness knows I can use all the help I can get to be a healthy human, these days – so I…
1/16/2022
For the first time in a very long time, words start to feel like a good idea again. It’s been over a year since I left this space, hanging in the midst of chaos, and walked away without looking back. My last writing came during the aftermath of the January 6th, 2021, insurrection, a flying…
Insurrection
The past year has been marked by its nonexistence. It has been a year of nothingness – a year of canceled plans and solitude. A year of reschedulings and puttings-off, of avoidance and isolation and exhaustion. A year of pitchers poured out, of glasses half empty, of deep shadows and that particular lonely gaping in…
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…