This Is Working


Feeling super guilty for neglecting this little blog thingy…but I promise that it’s only because I’ve been doing tons of work, and being incredibly happy about it. I recently had three of my photographs in an art show at George Mason University. Currently, two of my collages are hanging in an exhibit at the Adam Lister Gallery. Endless gratitude to all who inspire and support everything that I do. Peace and Blessings…


This Is Returning


Candy. Love. Kiss. Hug.


This Is Only for a Moment


Why do we believe we always have more time? I love you. Please know that I love you. Peace. Love. Gratitude. Remembrance. Stay happy.



This Is Beyond


The persistent magnetism of limestone resolves a deep need for perspective. The muddy perch and thrust of egret wing and falling rock sweep and surrender. Each glittering shell explodes beyond the bluff. And see how the years have sustained us. Always trust that I will hold you bright as every shining blessing. If the bird could emerge from the Great River now, would it think to eat us all, or would it bask in wonder, stalk us in disbelief? We rest as even the storm refuses to cross the river to disturb us. We hold fast to the easy burning of these years to know we are more than one day, one season. We gather folded in tones and shadows unknown to us. A weathered pink. The tattered green. The softened gray. You are the lovely ones who saved me then, and save me still. We are carried to a peace beyond shadows and color. We let loose the secrets inside us. Our vast luminous love. This is how family is found, made, claimed. Once home, the hummingbird touches my ankle, knee, thigh. The blue meerkat stands still and tall to open the door to now, and to the still and silent sadness of the long letting go.


This Is Temporary

In all the silent sitting there is still and present peace. Yet soon the June bug pops against glass, until, upon release, it exerts a fleeting thrust, like a clumsy and foolish Icarus, flying towards the setting sun. Grass grows and speaks its grassness. Strands of bubbles blown from the bows of skeleton keys fatten, float, and burst like swollen exploding eyes. Swirls of wisteria and bindweed hint at beauty, encircling sunflower and honeysuckle in a tangle of summer. The flickering code of fireflies climbs the sky through branches above the backyard. The nights are cha-cha, rumba, bossa nova, and samba on the patio record player, and like the bright bricks of the back wall, colored only in chalk, fade in three quick months.