Writings from Daizie's Place

It is a land far to the north, but you can also get there if you travel to the south, or east or west, for that matter.

Nancy wanted to wait to see the lilacs bloom. "That will be my sign," she said.

The message of spring is the light after many dark months of winter, curtains not thick enough to block the powerful rays of the cool morning sun from penetrating into

It wasn't Icarus, but a yellow tennis ball that flew across my mind, and I saw it lost in the tall grass at the end of its glorious flight, arcing

The Camino de Santiago. A new adventure that life was magically offering me.  We were to meet in Madrid, visit a few museums and then together drive to St Jean

by Helen McCormack The Prompt  – A Walk; and with my coffee mug in hand I've got lost in a walk down Memory Lane, really Lanes. Couldn't find my Saturday notebook

That morning I was resting by the wall And gazing out, I saw a family of cats   Stalk pigeons, bodies crouched and serious, As silent as approaching sleep, hungry In

While my soul was falling Falling The dog still needed walking In my coat The leash went on We stepped out the door The hole in my heart Vast I

The Alhambra lay before her in the shimmering sun, hovering above the western horizon; showering golden light over the sparkling city, jagged mountains, and green fields. Alone, after parking her

San Francisco Ballet had their school and studios on 18th Avenue between Geary Blvd. and Clement, facing the glorious Alexandria Theater, and only a few skips in ballet slippers across

After rushing to town, walking through the streets, passing the post office where people were waiting to be allowed to enter, I hurried to do my shopping as fast as

I have been trying to remember that water is conscious, and every once in a while I notice it looking at me. I get embarrassed by how I am treating

I pull the curtains back, the stage is set And there it is again: Familiar as milk or oranges, The ever changing scenery Of earth, sea, sky. Hazy Waving glancing

Mineral Vegetable Animal Inside a rock Dark, dense, dead Or a beating heart Of David How can that stone not be alive It knew Michaelangelo Wanting to be released Inside

To explain the story while also being in the story Is not easy. Like when in meditation The instruction is to observe the observer . . . . .

Today brings blue long awaited, the soaring birds can always fly above the clouds to find the light

This is the moment we've been waiting for. . .

But there you are. On the wrong side of the story.

They connected. They connected again after an absence of about ten years. – How did you find me? she asked.

I always imagined there was a hilltop shining with golden wheat where a woman with a red skirt, an apron and a babushka stood against the sky, swinging her scythe. . .