The great divide


Photo courtesy: OSU flickr photostream

Hear the whisper of the dogwoods

Like they could hardly wait

The lust of open roads

Spread out before us

Like a patchwork sheet

Our future was not certain

In the binding of a storybook

You can’t see everything



We will follow

the Oregon moon

That will welcome us in

I can taste the halo

Shoulder to shoulder with my kin

You and I will falter

But we’ll see the other side

I was once a pioneer

Crossing the great divide


Hey sweet baby

I don’t mind if you grab my hand

Secrets pass between us

As we ride across this land

Across a prairie backdrop

Floating wagon sails

We can only find the heaven

If we pass through this earthly hell


Over the horizon

Lies the promise of much more

Bluebonnets bow their heads

In a Western swinging door

The dust settles where it may

On the hearts of those who say no

Birds learn to use their wings

and we were bound to go


our belongings packed up so tight

bouncing round and out of sight

the days, the nights

the fireglow

tales to keep us entertained

of gold that could be attained

the days, the nights

Let us reap, let us sow


To the Imaginative…


Photo credit goes wholly to: Status Frustration photostream

A mere hike in the woods including a sprint can begin to feel like a scene from a fairytale.

Boredom does not exist because they need only step outside their door to see a need, an opportunity or an adventure at their feet.

There is always something to share and tell- for their eyes are wide enough to take in a world that is vastly changing, shifting and growing like the ocean that never rests.

They always have friends- even if they are only created up in their heads.  Even people begin to transform into characters in front of their eyes or into animals that match their personality characteristics.

Life is both a beautiful experience and terrifying letdown… oftentimes all in the same day.

There is beauty in all things large and small.

A person is never just a person… they are the object of affection or struggle and they become a character in stories, songs and daydreams.

Light dances around the world through shadow play in ways that most people miss as they hurry along.

Nature is a haven of rest and recharging.

Grit is absolutely necessary to see a future in which creativity can reign.

Nothing is ridiculous.

Whimsy is a part of everyday life.

Why not is always waiting in the back of the mind, ready to be latched onto like the last hope.

All things become fodder for inspiration.

Have and inspiring Wednesday 🙂


French Pastries

Where shall I go

To find myself

The me I do not know

What window shall I choose

To gaze upon a flowering field

To find myself a better view

To where shall I flee

To satisfy

Each tiny need

And which foreign land can host

My daily joys

And all adversity

To whom shall I give

To bestow

My life

Like a mayfly lives

Who owns the crafted hands

That will hold me close

Spinning yarns over fortune

Love as full from coast to coast.


Photo Credit: US Library of Congress photostream (love this place live)


Etude of Four Homes


Photo Courtesy: Swedish National Heritage Board photostream

I long to live in a cottage by the sea

Built especially just for me

Where you have come, because all you want

Is to only be with me

We shall live

Overgrown with ivy green

In our own quaint cottage by the sea

While the waves lap

And the wind blows the salt against our skin

The water must refuse to settle

We, too, must continue on again

Then we shall live on a mountain

In the cleft that is hewed

Where we sing a hymn

Of me, you and blue

Safe from the hate and insults

Of the world

Hidden in our mystery cave

Where truth can be unfurled

When they pass by to find

We hold our breath and close

Hidden in a space

No one else ever knows

On a vessel, out at sea

Where there’s only what yet will be

We hoist the sails and batten hatches

to let ourselves roam free

Leaning gainst the edge of her weathered side

By day

Barefoot on the deck

By night

The whispers of God

Will redirect the mast

I count every shooting star

Sink next to you as moments pass

In a gypsy wagon, our home

With our wares and potions scattered round

Each night we stoke a fire

and let ourselves be lost and found

Characters pass by

We welcome them near

Some we hope keep moving

Others we forever hold dear

And as travel we through an earth

We don’t pretend to own

We will embrace uncertainty

Preparing for a distant home.


May 2013