Fell down. Went boom. So, on August 4th, I fell during a bad thunderstorm while trying to help my dog – who was freaking out. I banged myself up and, unfortunately, broke my right wrist – rendering me unable to write or type. As you might imagine, this is difficult for me! I just wanted… More Broken Wing
I love my olive green watering can.
I love walking amongst the plants and insects, raining down a small spigot of life-giving water.
It feels good – grounding – to be out under the trees, pulling the hose along behind me. It feels good to be standing in wet leaves and seed pods, feet soaked and crusty with dirt.
There’s something bruising and beautiful about the simple act of providing water.… More Life As Art: A Meditation on Water
I have to toughen up and I have to tough it out. I need to go out and meet the world because unless I do I will remain tentative and small. I will be a tiny haiku instead of a searing memoir.… More Grace Notes: Developing a Brave Heart
If you never get quiet, you never walk the backroads of your soul.
You are largely a stranger to yourself.
You cannot know your own heart without embracing silence.… More Quieting the Storm Within
There’s something about this sort of life that has always pulled at the edges of my soul. The quiet. The solitude. The umbrella of old oaks and junipers out back. The fence falling down. The lonely cry of a horse.… More Life as Art: Bird by Bird
I am a decidedly impatient person.
I want to see results now.
As in, like, yesterday.… More Grace Notes: Patience
When I write, I fall through the page.
When I write, I discover I have something to say.
When I write, time grows still.… More Riding This Dragon Into A New Life
Frida’s gift to me – all these decades later – is to offer me the freedom to be as weird as I want to be. No one else can live this life for me. No one can take these chances.
Why not savor our own strange blend of beauty and artistry and soul? … More Life As Art: Yes, I am as Strange as You
I saw one of the great wonders of the world. I saw it.
I wasn’t checking Facebook status or my email or my phone. I wasn’t posting to Instagram or writing my memoirs. I was just there, staring into that cavernous space, unable to catch my breath.