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Maria’s mug of milk and warm moon. . . .
One of my cyber friends had a marvelous post on March 14, 2025 called a mug of milk and warm moon. Maria Wulf is a poet as well as an artist and she is a joy to watch when she posts. Her connection to our natural world puts us all in a classroom to wonder…
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The Mist That Sustains Me . . . .
(there are those like me in our terminus who have carried what the sophisticated did not because they were born for better lives they said, more important things than menial work. Because for reasons mostly involving children, the work of caring for those unable fell on unsuspecting shoulders. We find a hundred years later…
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When Passion Is Exhausted . . . .
The Best Of All Worlds When a teenage grandson arrived into our family, my talks with him were cerebral and pithy. We were in my basement study and on the wall was a quote which I had paraphrased from something I was reading and his mother, an artist, had illustrated. (We have since used the…
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New World Carved Out Of Our Hearts. . .
When you asked the question. . . I don’t know that it occurred to me at some particular point, or that I always knew the moment you asked the question you already knew the answer because the process by which intelligence grows is by the conclusions reached by the hard work of consecutive thoughts…
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When You Need To See A Skyline. . . .
August 23, 2024. . . As an introduction for those new to my writing, you need to know that for me all time is simultaneous, it is all happening now. It need not be your understanding, just an acknowledgment that it is this way for me. It makes for easier understanding when your thoughts are…
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Immigrant. . . .
Although it was my best of intentions I don’t know why it was not obvious to those who claimed they knew me. But what they saw was some kind of favoritism but never the cost or the contract involved. That it could not be believed was understandable. But the next question should have been, why…
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To Remember Is Our Liberation. . .
I remember once or many times saying that I wish to pick up a book and understand what they were saying. I wanted wisdom. I wanted to understand. I wanted there to be a difference about me that others could see and say she is different. I am different. Our words are the same…
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An Affair Of The Heart. . .
An Affair Of The Heart. . . If you are a front line worker, a miracle worker appearing first to cries of crises, and you are driving home at the end of the day, you begin to talk in the silence of your car. You vent and cry with fatigue, with sadness, with curses…
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The Teacher. . . . (The Socratic Departure). . . .
The Teacher (The Socratic Departure) I will drink this cup of gall, swallowing the bitterness setting fire to earth’s waste. But first I caress this chalice. Its depth mirrors my heart, shaking the foundations of my very own selves. Now splendid trepidation challenge the ultimatums by which the earth rocks. Challenge me, o gods,…
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A Sorrow Hushed . . . . . .
A Sorrow Hushed. . . My ears cleaved to the door frame of the dining room. Her whisper was hoarse, were there many? Lots, he said, lots, as he held the letter that told him what they saw. They pushed for space, women and children and their men for best viewing. They wanted to see. …