Well, this pair of photos cracks me up because here is my boy so proud to be in his very own bed! And then here he is two days later, where he really lets go into sweet baby sleep: in the big bed, of course.
it’s the color of dusk
when I am captive
on the bed with a nursing toddler
who won’t let go of my breast
and who won’t let go into sleep
because the world is too full
of wonderful things
and he says “turn off the light”
but there is no light on
to turn off –
only the soft glow of blue dusk
filling the room,
begging for a poem,
calling me to write
before I am claimed by dreams
I’ve shared this poem before, haven’t I? Here it is, again.
How it stands out against the darkenings
of the rainy evening, young and pure,
its tendrils arched everywhere in givingness
yet absorbed in its own rose-being;
the shallow flowers, already open here and there,
each unasked for and untended:
thus, immeasurably exceeded by itself
and indescribably self-aroused,
it calls to the wander, who in his evening
meditating comes past along the road:
Oh look at me, see, over here, how safe I am
and unprotected and having all I need.
— Rainer Maria Rilke
I’m designing myself a graduate program in poetry.
I received an unexpected gift this year: a reawakening of my deep love for poetry. I’m following this love by consuming great quantities of poems and filling notebooks with words. I wish we lived close to a university so I could attend an actual graduate program. But for now, my mom, my dear friends, my professor brother, and the wonderful library are all keeping me supplied and inspired.
And, to tell you the truth, most days my graduate studies look something like this . . .
Self portrait with baby boy.
I’ve seen so many beautiful self portraits of women photographers on Flickr and Instagram over the past couple of weeks, and I’ve felt very inspired by the vulnerability and expression shared through these little windows.
Thank you to couragous women, near and far, who inspire with your dedication to your families, your work, and your creative lives.
A New Year’s Day hike at Gousty.
This home I so love.
Covered in a blanket of white.
Sitting deep in thought.
Writing at dusk.
Thick snow falling.
I pushed her too hard on cross-county skis.
She is nursing a strained tendon.
I must remember to take it slow.
They grow and they become so capable, but still, we must take it slow.
We’re traveling to Italy in our studies this week. Our table is covered with books about Leonardo da Vinci; Jeffrey’s beautiful sketch book from Rome; maps large and small from Florence and Rome to Sienna and Pienza; a beautiful picture book about the island of Sardinia; and amazing images of Italian buildings and works of art. And, well, then I just had to bring out some of those old love letters from Jeffrey’s year abroad 17 years ago!
If you can’t go there in real time . . . play you can!
The sweetest sleep of baby dreams.
Sister’s new old skateboard!
Busy man, up at the sink. Making a flood.
Oh, I love this.
She painting a portrait of herself from a photo I took of her, almost a year ago.
“I’ve never painted myself before,” she said.
And then she took artist liberties to change the way she looks.
Let’s go inside the greenhouse and take off our coats and reach our faces up towards the precious January sunshine!
We have a family of opossums living in a brush pile near our chicken coop. First we saw one. Then two. And then the girls discovered . . . a mama and three babies! They have been making the rounds, gathering compost scraps, chicken food, and birdseed.
Is it time to get a dog???