Birthday Grill

Wallace was surrounded by so much love on his birthday. It was so life affirming to spend the evening with family and friends and celebrate this little boy’s vibrant being.

Wallace is obsessed with our neighbor Mike’s grill. For his birthday, Mike and Paula made a mini version for Wallace! Such delight!

As soon as he finished his cake, he said, “Again, grill!”

Houdek Dunes

This is a little catch up from 10 days ago when we spent a glorious afternoon at Houdek dunes in the midst of color and light and warmth. We read “Amos and Boris,” by William Steig (one of my all-time favorite children’s books), painted with watercolors, and picnicked. Yes, we have soaked up so many of these beautiful days this fall. I hope they will help carry us through the darker, colder months ahead.

Moss from the Forest I Most Love

I collected this moss on an evening walk
in the rain
through the forest I most love.
Autumn colors so vibrant,
leaves soaking wet.
So similar to a walk I took two years ago
in these woods.
So much stays the same here.
So much changes in the world outside.
I need to go back to the forest —
again
and again.

Worlds within Worlds

Deeply overcast day. Perfect for making tiny worlds inside worlds with rich green moss, fresh from the forest.

Terrariums: my interest in these little jars of life seems somehow tied up with my recent questions over work and our future. It is as if I can let myself imagine a series of different worlds — each completely contained. While my fingers are occupied with tiny bits of moss and lichen, I sift through possibilities in my mind and envision a half-a-dozen different paths. How can I be simultaneously so centered and so utterly unsure?

(From a piece I wrote in January 2015, before we knew that little Wallace would be joining our family.)

Making Space

A meditative morning
cleaning out a garden bed,
getting ready for garlic.

Pulling out the old growth
to make room.
Letting in the light,
just before the rain.

There is so much color here —
so much joy in the seeding and growing,
planting and transplanting.
Watching, waiting, watering.
Flourishing, nourishing.

But there is sorrow, too.
Sorrow in letting it all go,
pulling it out —
even as I know that I must let it go
to make space for what is to come.