It is a small but very precious part of me hanging in our front window.
Memoir
You never give me your money
Lily, born today and growing up in that little house in West Seattle behind the Sub Shop #9 and the corner bar we never once visited, Chuck and Sally’s.
Song for March invocation
The awareness of how different it is here than in my neighborhood in the suburbs.
This life is a book I don’t want to finish
It’s a game where there is no winning, only the joy in the odd and unexplained.
5th and Hamilton
Maybe the art was in the refashioning of otherwise useless things.
At first, and then
That was the first time I realized that just because you put something in print doesn’t make it any better than it was from the start.
The strength of strings
I started to learn that to write is to live, and you can’t do much of the former without the latter.
Song for early morning meditation
Early morning walks from the cottage in January as the light is coming on earlier day by day.
Impromptu streams
Who gets a day with nothing to do? What time is this?
Long dark blues
I remembered what it was like to leap out of bed with an eagerness for the day but that feeling was long gone.
Bill Pearse 