Everyday Wonder

A gift to the current Me, from the girl I was last Fall …

Every once in awhile, this magical thing happens to me.

I’ll be plowing through my day, hurried and tense, when suddenly I’ll stumble over a little loveliness, left behind by my past self.

It’s like a gift, really:  the rose petal pressed between two pages.  The poem scribbled on a cocktail napkin, tucked in my coat pocket.

Today though, I found a gift on the memory card of my beat-up old Canon Rebel:


I don’t know how it happened, but I must have forgotten to load a set of photos from last Fall, because when I plugged in my camera cable and flicked my Rebel on to download new material, a sudden wash of yellow blazed across the screen — the unmistakable colors of Autumn.

I was a little sad back then:  my heart still raw over a dear friend who’d hurt me.  But an aching heart is good for art — every artist knows that — because it’s hungry for the Light.  


(And when it comes to the Light, hungry is a good thing to be.)


I still remember taking these shots:  in a sudden fit of frustration, I’d pulled the lens off my camera and simply held it in place, letting the light leak through.

The result is a series of unedited shots that look like watery Impressionist brushstrokes, washed with sun, messy and soft:





And I needed messy and soft today…  

Maybe you do, too. ❤



a small reminder, written on floating leaves …


This time of year, I can’t watch a single leaf spiraling to earth without thinking of a certain special poem by E.E. Cummings …

Strung together like a necklace of cranberries on a thread, his letters make up what I consider to be the most exquisite little poem I’ve ever encountered:










Oh, friends … may we view each fluttering leaf as a reminder that there are a great many people in our lives who may be lonelier than we know.

Let’s love them well, and invite a few cold souls into the firelight of our winter hearths. ❤




Everyday Wonder

On pomegranates … & quiet pleasure



Early evening.

I sit out on the back steps, letting the last of the Autumn light run down over my shoulders.  In the yard, under the canopy of the old oak, bronze leaves come loose from the branches.  Float and spin down slow.

A mixing bowl of cool water rests between my knees, and under the surface, wrist-deep, I break open the husk of a pomegranate and watch the bright red bleed out:

Ruby arils.

White pith.



And I suppose there’s some quiet truth I could puzzle out here, if I wanted — something about brokenness and beauty.  The way the most precious part lies hidden beneath the skin, glittering in the dark, waiting for the peeling back of the layers.

But today, for now, I don’t want to pin the meaning down into words.

So instead I sit very still and soak in this last warm sun on my skin.

I sweep the white pith from the surface.

Throw it out.

Cup the arils like tiny rubies in my palm.


This moment, I tell myself:  This.


I lift my hand to my lips…




For today, this moment is enough. ❤



Everyday Wonder

When it’s Fall and it’s cold & wet but I’m brave & hopeful anyway …

Rain falls.
The trees flame.



I step into the car and find it coated with wet leaves, the brown foliage glued to grill & windshield and hood.

I start the engine, and a flock of small black birds shudders upward.  Lifts through gray light.


On the road I am driving fast now.  Water hisses in the wheelwells, and already I feel the passing of what was — the coming of the cold.

Come on.

The words rise to my lips and I speak them like a dare — come on — green eyes narrowed.

Come, Autumn, and all it represents:  come fine lines and frost and ice.

Come, gray hairs curled in my brush.  Black boughs crosshatched on white snow.

Come:  blue veins and blizzard — I’ll climb my fading body like a ladder into Next.  Laugh at the days to come.

(I am not always so brave, but I am today — and that’s enough).

Well, come on then.


The car slides forward through rainwet gold.  The trees shed their summer leaves and I shed the past year like a suit of skin splitting open down the spine.

This place is too small for me now.

I flick on the windshield wipers and watch the cold rain disappear.  The wet leaves loosen from the hood, fluttering back.

A glance in the rearview and already they’re behind me:  dry dead things, skittering and tumbling in the road.


Pedal to the floor.


Everyday Wonder

a to-do list for magic-seekers …


To Do:

1. Walk into the woods.  Find a leaf.  Maybe it’s long and slender:  a birch leaf, or a willow…  Tuck it behind my ear, the way some people wear a pencil.  

Wear it all day.

2.  Put on a spring coat, even though it’s fall.  Walk slow along the sidewalk, watching for pebbles that gleam in the light…  Also, feathers.  Acorns.  Furred green moss.  

Fill my pockets.  

Wait for spring.

3.  Find a park bench in the woods.  Lie down on it.  

Do nothing for at least half an hour.  


4.  Go down to the river.  Kneel at the bank and cup a palmful of riverwater, reflecting clouds.  

There.  See?  

…  The sky in my hands.