A Three Mile Drive

I know what should be blooming, singing, or visiting any time, but I revel in the surprises. Over the summer, a frog moved into the front gardens. What a sweet marker of the returning health of this tiny bit of land! I adore hearing his frog songs at night, mixed in with the sounds of the night chorus.

What’s the Story, Morning Glory?

To be clear, the primary factor in that review was the frustration and anger I directed at myself because “I should be able to do all the things.” Well, guess what, chickens? Should is a four-letter word.

The Little Things

It never surprises me when my dad shows up in memory or visitation when I am thinking about the Adirondacks or wandering in the woods somewhere. Those were his places and my places, and another one of the connections that we shared.

How an Opossum Healed a Haunt

That little wet and bedraggled baby shone his light onto a deep, haunted wound and showed me that my part of that haunted space could heal now because the rest is healing, too. It is a big release to let a ghost go. To let that much darkness go. To cleanse a haunting.

Healing the Land

Who knows how long this land has been yearning for the return of plants that feel just right in her soil? I do not have the answer to that question, but I know she has been whispering to me about it since I met her.