New Year's Eve 2009

Quiet stars rest in the meadow
As if a piece of heaven has come
down to rest among the sleeping roots
and trees and flowers
Maybe humming
Maybe listening
but surely trusting
in the well-being of
Winter's quiet breath.


There is nothing so fun as being engulfed in a winter's twilight. Among quiet, but stirring trees; among hidden, but breathing flowers; among starlight, surely calling you home.

December 2009

November 2009

Crisp leaves scurry across the ground, breaking free from the morning frost. Bare branches sway like cathedrals against a darkening sun. A late chirp of sparrows interrupts November’s quiet dusk.


It’s the time for Thanksgiving.
And how grateful I am for the woods; this one, the one I had as a child, the ones I will have when I’m old. I think - though thousands of miles apart- they are the same. I think tree energy surpasses lines on a map. I think the hum echoes, travels, shares, waits open-armed. And I suppose if I was to sit against a tree, might I feel you against yours?

Oh for the grace of trees.

Anthea and Marigold listen to November’s heartsong . . . colorful as cranberries, sincere as the frosted leaf, thick with promise, and endless as one’s imagination.