Meeting at the Brook It is the blinking of a firefly's light. It is the x that marks the spot on the treasure map that says, dig here. It is the fairy in the woods signaling, follow me.
Rock, Sky, Water Up the hill, through the field gate and then down the slope. We are lost in the country behind wild hedges, total freedom from roads or eyes.
The Sequence of Reflections We come out here, though, for some good reason, these distances that stand in for a spiritual path, these ways of going away, backtracking to some fork in the road you must have passed in the dark. . .
Message in a Bottle His body looked like a starving man, but his smile dispelled any worry about his well-being, as if he, alone in the whole village, knew the secret to happiness.
St. Helen's Well After all, I was a very good girl and never told lies and could see no difficulties on the road to sainthood. . .
The Deathless Bird I close my eyes and go in search of where I've stored the memories of moments that can't be put into words. . .
Every Breathing Thing I don't care if you want to call me crazy,/ but this silken roof-top breeze is a living presence. . .
Cloud Mail You took my hand and then the other one too, and said, 'You're swell, you are. You're the only one here I can talk to. I'd feel lost if you weren't here.' I wanted to kiss you but Mommy always told me don't be forward, they'll think you're cheap.
Connection When I think of connection, I find myself in a cattailed stream full of croaking life and healing mud and swooping shadows cast by red-winged blackbirds.
Lessons from the Milky Way White was not so much a color, or, as some say, the absence of color, as it was a feeling under my fingertips when I touched the outside of our house. . .
Like a Papier Mâché Horse I awoke at what I guessed was about an hour before dawn. I heard no shrill, drunken voices shouting good night or getting the last word in an argument that started before the pubs closed.
My Daughter's Wisdom I go blind sometimes in the face of great beauty. It could be a river gorge, the cathedral of a forest, or a sunset singing its heart out. . .
The Aroma of Basil Basil grew thick and tall in ancient clay pots all around Niko's house: at the foot of each set of red stone stairs, and flanking each heavy wooden door. . .
We Lived in the Age of Aretha We lived in the Age of Aretha./ We stood on the deck of the ship/ she sailed. We were lifted in her/ updrafts when she beat her wings and soared. . .
In My Medicine Bag What did I carry in my medicine bag? There was a coat my mother kept in the space behind the back seat of her Volkwagen bug. The car was pumpkin, the coat avocado,
