(this was begun last june, and just finished recently, in my attempt to poke my creative side!)

the weather tonight makes me feel like i feel in early autumn, as summer fades from my fingertips and a chill crawls around my shoulders. it feels like new endings and old beginnings, like the things i’ve done a thousand times and still fear, like worn wood splintering into bare feet. i stand outside and count the stars, drawing lines with my eyes to connect constellations, most of which i make up. i am antsy, unsettled, worried. i feel churned, turned, spun around. Something is happening, energy is vibrating,  and i can’t pin down the source.

the universe is unsettled, like shaken oil and vinegar, bubbling through itself to find it’s  higher ground. the world turns itself over and over, looking for a side that feels right, a place to settle in, comfort. my pillow cradles my aching head, full of sharply edged questions. The buzzing buzzes and drones drone as the world moves on in it’s chaotic spiral. The constant background noise of our lives, the hisses and hums and lights and clocks lulls to sleep.

we are here, along for the ride, floating with the beasts as we try to make sense of our fortunes. it ends somewhere, and the universe, space and time will be here longer than we ever could be, holding on to what comes next. we worry and wander, seeking answers that were never ours to know. we try to find the worms living under the rocks, staying in the cool, keeping to the shade. too timid to ask the real questions, we stay low and try hard and keep quiet.

the inside quakes, unable to handle all of the truths at once. the shell stays steady, a start to something new. shaken and scared, it’s hard to trust,and  almost impossible to believe. forward with faith into the cosmos we float, the winds change as the future shifts and all moves closer to being one.







for Bluebell Books Poetry Slam Week 3




the darkening clouds
move in like ground troops
controlling my sky,
stealing my sunshine.
the trees scream
and fight for their space,
but the darkness scurries in.
there is no room for light,
no place for the comfort of blue,
nowhere to run but into the storm.
my muscles tense and i wonder
if will it all consume me,
like the sky threatens to do
with each growing growl of thunder.

gain – inspired by photo below, for Blue Bell Books short story slam.


the morning rose early, with wild green grass and tiny buzzing insects looking for a snack amongst the gathered crowd. the heat had yet to settle in, the dew was almost chilly. a breeze timidly moved in this was the day of the floating. the magical moment of beauty, the highlight of the summer in Alexander, Maryland. this is what they waited for.

lovers snuggled and old men drank coffee  near hot air balloons that looked like wonder bread bags. excitement rose in the air against the august heat, which had come out of it’s hiding place and settled, like a blanket, upon the shoulders of the gathered people. something was finally about to happen. nothing ever happened in Alexander.

the mayor had won a contest, had written an essay that had gotten the tiny town the honor. 3 balloons were going to launch from the high school football field, and fly above town. passengers in the balloons included the mayor himself, and 6 raffle winners. they were allowed to bring cameras but not cell phones. all were excited, some were scared. this was an Adventure.

once they landed, on the same field, surrounded by townsfolk clapping and hooting, the riders stepped out. they had seen the world from a new distance; each individual underwent dramatic, unspeakable changes. they understood. on that day, they became a larger part of the world.

where do i hang my hat?

i’m getting to that point in moving where the lighting feels funny and voices echo uncomfortably around the spaces. my apartment is transitioning from being mine to being another’s. i feel the energy shift, the warmth of home draining away, dripping into boxes of things to be opened in the next place i’ll call home. the same things in different places – but its never quite the same.

good or bad, every home i’ve had has been an entity unto itself. there was my first apartment, the top floor of an old, creepy, crumbling house, across the street from george washington’s headquarters. there was my apartment in the basement of a building, with that distinct ‘something is illegal here’ feel. i lived for two year’s in a friend’s house, a place he had rebuilt before moving in. my favorite residence was the hippie hut, the first floor of a two family house on a busy suburban street in new jersey.

the timeline of my life is marked by the places i’ve lived. each place had it’s own spirit, it’s own breath. the walls that have known me have seen my secrets, have felt the bang of my fists and heard my moans of pleasure. the places i’ve lives have become part of me, intricately woven in to the events and emotions in my life. a song, a scent, a certain breeze can bring these memories flooding back, and i dance through all my kitchens in a single thought.

the idea of home settles thickly in my head. i know i have wandered too much, rolling around to avoid the moss. but i also know that, while the walls are fleeting, the photos on the walls are forever. i hold my memories tight and keep the pictures clear. the truth is, home is wherever i land, and every place i’ve ever been.



last weekend, i escaped to the white mountains. i took my boots, my camera, my boyfriend, and my ever-present brown moleskin notebook, and took off in the snow, aimed north. we drove and smoked and laughed and blasted good tunes. we arrived at our cabin, met up with our friends, made a fire, and drank long into the night, laughing over board games.

we ate good food, smoked mediocre weed, didn’t sleep well, stepped carefully around the ice and snow. we played with the fireplace, talked philosophy, ate junk food and saw fireworks.

we took a short hike on a snow covered trail that ran along the river. it was a beautiful saturday, cold and sunny. we followed the packed paths from skiers and snowshoers before us, being careful not to fall into the knee-deep edges. we hopped across streams, and stopped at the edge of the river. we stood on rocks, took pictures, talked, planned future hikes, soaked in the sunshine.

i wandered away from my friends, and i stood on rocks in the middle of the pemi river. i breathed in the mountain air, so crisp it felt like the icy water below me. i took off my hat, let it dangle around my neck by it’s string, and listened. i took in the rushing of the water, the power of the river crashing over, around, between snow capped rocks. i looked downstream, where the river ran on forever and a stately mountain loomed – seeing, watching, protecting. i froze myself there, copied every detail into my memory.

the moment at the river, the weekend in the mountains, cleansed me, fulfilled a longing i wasn’t even aware i had. spring is nearing, the long, dark winter is receding. i have been reminded of the beauty and the power of the earth.