black top hat

oddly out of place in broad daylight
makes the day seem an occasion to celebrate

lying in meditation

lying in meditation i experience a few moments of "in the moment" living and i realize just how "out of the moment" i have been

reading to my children

my voice catches and tears escape
"mom stop!" they plead
and i remember
the terror of my mother's tears

in salabhasana (locust pose)

we kiss our mats
and i feel at one
with the earth

my toenails

freshly painted, "I'm not just a waitress" red
sparkle and delight!

kites-

hundreds of them
hover in the air
like a swarm of insects

otherworldly

the sky so blue
and cloudless
it looks unreal

bracing is the wind

as i step out of the warm pool
into a cold, cold breeze

fear

fear rises up as i dream about what i want to do next;
turning daydreams into daymares

now

time feels elusive and finite today
i scramble to "get it all done"
there is never enough
and yet, that's all there is

tartine

a toasted baguette
smothered in butter
with a smidge of strawberry jam
-homemade-
the sweetness lingers on my tongue

chasing the waves

diving in, under, on
riding the surf
to a place called JOY

the pacific is not pristine

in westport, wa
but still beautiful
sand, surf and seaweed mingle
with planks and plastic
it's nature, without nuture

the sounds of a summer afternoon:

birds singing
kids screeching
lawn mower revving
i pause in my work
to really listen

the full moon

obscured behind clouds of pink and grey
still has its effect

sometimes i see my husband

out of the corner of my eye
i notice how attractive he is
and i remember that i forget

hate exists

on the other side
of a fine line
called "not love"

in my son's taut chest

chiseled jaw
strong legs
i see the man he will become

811

one month to go

last night

while falling asleep
i wrote three small stones
i tried to rise and write them down
but sleep overtook me
and they slipped out of my hands
into the river of dreams

folding white towels

fresh from the dryer
clouds of fluffy goodness

a walk on the beach

a friend and i take a walk on the beach
i am ahead with my son
she is behind with her daughter
we are searching for shells

as we walk, i wonder and worry-
should we wait for them?
are they catching up?
are we missing out on time together?

i breathe and remember
we ARE together
on this beach
in this life

even back in college,
when i felt left out, left behind, left
it was not true
we were always together

my son and i turn around to go back
they are far ahead of us now
but as we walk i can feel our togetherness
now, then

we stumble upon a message
carved in the sand:
"Hello, You
Heart, Us"
message received

force majeure

--an act of God--
ate up the land
trees, homes
all that's left is debris:
cement, rebar, a bit of glass

i ponder the phrase, "act of God" to see if it applies...
or is it an "act of man" to build where God would rather dwell?

swimming in the ocean

i am tossed around
like a message in a bottle.
and the message is:
I AM

off the wagon

i fell off of the wagon last night
today i feel sad, mad, bad
despairing, despondent, nauseated
frustrated, broken, laid bare, sick
done
tomorrow is another day

burning

as i lay on the table
the masseur digs his fingers into my muscles
releasing tension stored up for years
the energy of past sadness, grief, fear and anger
burning

baseball aviary

we are watching a baseball game
when all of a sudden doves are sweeping through the stadium
dozens of them
flying all around,
swooping, diving, taking over
unaware of what is going on below them
and unconcerned

when i finally lie down

at the end of the day
i realize i haven't been in my body all day.
i've been living on the edges of myself--
coming and going,
doing, not being.
i take a breath and come back,
to myself.

in the middle

in the middle of cleaning the carpet,
i sit down to write.
when i look up
it is dark.
the carpet is
still dirty,
but i feel clean.

the night sky explodes with color

black, blue, yellow, pink
ahs! and oohs! at every turn

you touched my heart

with your soft gray eyes
looking not quite at me
and deep inside

a taste

a little sweet
a little sour
a little tangy
just like life

halfway through the day

i realize that i've been
hurrying,
scurrying,
worrying through
and nearly missed it all.

nobody else showed up to practice yoga today

it was just me and the teacher
i was nervous to be so closely observed
what would she think?
would she think i was terrible?
would she think i was ugly?
would she think this was a total waste of her time?
"it doesn't matter what she THINKS," i reminded myself
"just do your practice."
i smiled and we began.
for 90 minutes she pushed me and pulled me and tweaked me
afterward as i lay in corpse pose i felt such gratitude
what a gift
the gift of 90 minutes

LAST

the word last has such finality to it
last day
last time
last goodbye
but last is a false concept for humans
we never really know what's last until the last moment
last beat
last breath
last word

i sit up - wild-eyed - in bed

i didn't write a small stone today!
i glance over at the clock
it reads 11:59 pm
yes, i did!
ah, now i can rest.

it's sunny outside

but inside i'm gray;
winds of depression,
a shower of tears.

it's been years

since i lay on the grass
watching the clouds go by
looking for shapes
noticing textures
feeling the movement
i could stay here forever

a harried man

carries a crying baby in one hand
so tiny and thin he must be a newborn
(his scrawny, dangling legs remind me of my son's when he was born)

in the other hand, a poopy diaper
he walks with determination and exhaustion
to the garbage can
i watch with a mixture of sympathy and terror
i remember those days

yesterday it was summer at noon

and winter by five o'clock.
this morning it was fall and pouring rain.
now, at six o'clock in the evening, it is spring,
sunny and lightly raining.
four seasons in twenty-four hours.

a black cat sits in a window

--framed, meditating.
i stop and stare for a moment
he turns to me as if to say,
"what are you looking at?"
then returns to his practice

two tiny sprigs of purple

surprise me at my desk
color and fragrance
mingle and delight

chanting OM

i come hOMe
to myself

i worry

that i am becoming addicted to small stones
as soon as i pick one up,
i look around for another

the warm sun on my arm

through the driver's side window
makes me feel young again
like my life is all ahead of me
and i could go anywhere

cuddling on the couch

reading comics with my boys
laughter bubbles up
bliss

you sat with me as i cried

thank you

when we said goodbye

you shook my hand
and sparks flew

the moment before zero

stephen tobolowsky talks about "the moment before zero" on npr.
i listen in stunned silence to a brilliant mind at work.

I awake

prematurely from a bad dream--
heavy, confused.
what is the truth?

alternachick texting

framed in the box office window
jet black pigtails
thick horn-rimmed glasses
scarlet lips
a photograph in my mind
entitled "seattle 2011"

calla lilly

poking your stark white head out from among the weeds
sticking your tongue out at me

walking across the grass barefoot

feeling blue
something shimmers--
two shiny pennies
a gift of hope

6 pools

warm, warmer, warmest
hot, hotter, hottest
rocks, trees, sand and butterflies
heaven in idaho

small stones ding the windshield of my life

making cracks in an otherwise busy day
one isn't enough

the smell of sagebrush

baking in the sun as we drive across eastern washington
clears the mind
like god's own smudgestick

exhaustion

covers my body like wet cement
i move, one slab at a time

my son

huge white teeth like chiclets in his smille
sweet

nepali chai

burns my lips with creamy sweetness
an unexpected treat

zoe yogurt

peanut butter swirled with chocolate
in a compostable cup--
doubly delicious.