a safe place to feel

last night i was talking to a group of women about emotions. we ended up fingerpainting and praying and laughing and crying. this morning i’m trying to remember how it feels to feel. i think paint may be in order. one friend said, it just felt good to have my fingers in paint. and it

october reminds me of summer

the summer was good. yes, i’m still thinking about summer.  i still am processing that it’s over. we looked out the windows this morning and frost was holding fast to the top of the car, to the clover on the yard.  the heat has been kicking on.  abraham pulled out his electric blanket a couple

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the family vineyard

my mother is worried. the grapes ripen on the vine and the white clouds sit in bluest sky. i agree. there’s a lot to worry about. she’s telling stories. grandma bessey’s house.  she and her brother and sisters would stay there when her parents fought too long.  grandma bessey, a savior of sorts, with her

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summertime

i’d like to say something serious. really, i would. but i can’t. there are problems of pride and humility to solve.  there are confessions to be made and stories to tell. but i just can’t right now. there’s barely any summer left. the forecast has seven yellow suns lined up all in a row. these

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brand new again

these summer days are being sewn together.  the thread of time pulling days side by side and making a patchwork quilt of life. i hope it covers you, child. i want light to leak from our pockets every minute. i want to look at your face and feel sweet freedom from responsibility.  i want to

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