I was hoping to escape spring snow this year. This year, I desperately need spring to come early. I am through with gray, cold, and drudge.
Category: Poetry
What Girls are Made of – Part 2
In each poem, I want to create a snapshot of childhood and how girls navigate in the world. I’m going to take time to think back on what was important to me back then.
What Little Girls are Made of
When I walk down the corridors, I am greeted by a variety of girls, ages three to eleven. They wear colorful leggings, light-up sneakers, unicorn headbands, wild curls and long twisted braids. They come in all shapes, shades, and sizes. And they are the hope we need in this world, especially right now.
Problem Solver
Problem solver. That is who I am. That is who I am at the core of my being, of my soul. I’m not sure if that’s because I faced daunting problems in my childhood that I felt compelled to fix.
Fly Like a Bird
March is on the verge of bestowing full green upon the world. I can hear it in the birds that perch above my feeder, bright flashes of blue and red, wonderful displays of white-tipped browns and grays.
Sacred Trees
In my search of rest, I often find solace in trees. I find comfort in their sturdy trunks and the variations of their bark – molted gray-green, bumpy brown, spectacular white. Their branches reach high to the heaven and bend with the wind.
Sacred Rest
Walking through the winter gauntlet that is January and February, I have been on the hunt for rest, not just sleep but rest – physical, emotional, spiritual, social, and sensory.
The Most Beautiful Thing
I know that when Deborah tells me that I will love a book, I need to take her seriously. In the nineteen years I’ve known her, she has never steered me wrong. She has a unique gift for being able to match books to readers.
Nurturing Creativity: Sing-a-Song
“I have a story to tell you,” she said. At first, I was thinking, “I have no time for stories. I wish I didn’t sit in the hallway. I got so much work to do!” But here I was, and I knew the art teacher always has such funny stories, so I took a deep breath and made myself present. I turned to the eager art teacher and listened.
A Mother’s Perfect Love
My mother, Vivian, would have been 100 years old this past Friday. She has been gone almost nine years, almost a decade. How can that be? It seems like yesterday.
Word Dancer: Literature, the Arts, & Education 