​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

​August 2023

Tomorrow is Dad's Birth Day 
he isn't here to celebrate
so many times and places 
I miss him; he's in my bones

I know little of cellular invasion
the parts of me I shared with Mom
I know more about DNA and fusion
but still so very little, tiny like 

the start of me, Dad playing his part
the joining of bodies and the magic
that made me whole, hopefully
But still, Dad is missed

xo

 July 2023

it's hot and humid
there are smells leftover from the dogs who died years ago
the towels are damp, and it's hard to pull on a pair of jeans
but we say it was a long winter and carry-on, and marvel
at trees laden with fat, bright leaves, the rain only knocking
the blossoms and the bees as they waddle in the sweetness
it's hot and humid
and I do not like it
xo
​

 JUNE 2023


beauties and beasts of humidity 
my hair and nails curl and break
the dog can not get enough water
I can not get enough breath or air
 and still, we waited for the arrival
and so we speak about other times
 the bluebird skies of early winters
the day he was buried in the snow
xo

​