Today, we celebrate the birth of Gramma Jeannette, 
and tomorrow, the birth of Grampa Fran, 
also lovingly known as Grampa Friend. 
We had these two elders for many years, 
yet still, it was not long enough

I have a photograph of them together
walking up our driveway, Gramma carrying a 
lemon cake in a faded Tupperware container, 
him with a folding green and white lawn chair
arriving at our annual summer party

In the background, the corn fields are past knee-high
& the sun is slanted and hazy like a good summer day
the kids are in bathing suits with muddy feet 
and their friends are paddle-boating amongst
 dragonflies, tadpoles, and milkweeds

I don't need the photo to remind me of the love

it lives in my blood and bones and breath

xo
​

​And just like that, the opening happened. The going big, the readying to shine. The invitation to witness this beauty, the quiet way of turning towards the light, even knowing what is yet to come. xo

have you ever read the story the Iris tells
the inscription that lives to share the truth
the slow writing of time & beauty & love
the scratched reminders of what has been 
what shall be in the slowings of all things
look closely, she beacons, touch my hand
with the stems of your intricate unfolding
she pokes her nose into the air and waits

xo

​Yesterday, I rediscovered a photograph taken some time ago
the way the light reaches is one of my touchstones
for this thing to silently cross my vision
encouraging me to look more slowly
to breathe more deeply
to be that love
xo

​under the feet
washed clean 
smooth stones
fill a pocket or moment or hours of awe
s l o w down
be still
know love

xo

There is something so hauntingly gorgeous in the witnessing of dying flowers: beauty surrenders.
Dropping petals and pieces, smells are pungent, carry memories of ones gone before. 
With the fading comes a softness: a gentle reminder of what one day shall be:
the giving back, the letting go, the last dance, the final fare thee well. 
xo


​ 

​The four directions placed themselves,
and I thought of the father, sun, sons, and ghosts.
The woods called my name,
and I raised my head and listened.
No wind, only soft words coming from my heart.
And still, I know I am an orphan to the ferns and spider webs.
I am lost and found. Saved. 
And searching. xo

​The above photo is one of many my son, Jesse Crossman, has taken. He has the eye and heart of a lover of nature and all things beautiful. I am honored to share the photo, as I am to share him with the world. I am honored to be the mother of children who pay deep attention to this sacred and special world and time. There is much grief, loss, and sadness to hold, yet if our moments can also be touched by one another, we can know we aren't alone; together, the weight of all things can be lifted toward the light. xo

​Sometimes, the only thing bigger than a sky 
is the moment we remember it's there;
holding space, ever-changing, always shifting.

***

There was a time: Most of my life
I considered the sky to be blue, grey, or dark
but dark meant sleep, and grey meant sad,
and blue was a Crayola crayon. 
Blue was ocean, river, morning 
then my firstborn's eyes 
and that's when the sky flew open
and I knew I'd never be able 
to see it how it had once been.
xo

​

October arrived in many ways : Tears in unexpected places at unexpected times
: There were holes in the morning glories : The window screens, and my heart

Not one thing caused any of these incidents: It was a season of too much
: Heat and hatred, death and dying, angst and anger, rain and rage

What do we call it now : Autumn, the letting go, the dead leaves underfoot 
: The knowing, the laying down of darkness, the silent way it arrives

Hold tight dear heart : Courage is within
xo