Balancing Being Human
Some mornings in early April feel as though the world has two handles, and I am meant to carry both at once. One handle is carved from the heaviness of the news—its grain dark and unvarnished. I hear how the world speaks of us now, our national face appearing more clenched than kind, more bristled…
Between What Has Been and What Is Becoming
Stepping out this morning feels a little like waking into another world, though the ground beneath my feet insists it is the same one I have been stumbling through all week. Only yesterday, the air clung like a cold, drenched cloth draped over everything—trees, fields, my own shoulders. The wind came in sideways, needling any…
The Work of Early Spring
This morning came without announcement. The light did not break so much as it gathered—slowly, almost reluctantly—laying itself across the yard in a thin, patient wash. Nothing rushed to meet it. The air held, as if the day itself were still deciding whether to begin. Yesterday, I cleared what had been left behind. The yard…
In My Words 