October 22, 2019
I spent last weekend in my hometown. On the plane and in bed I read “The Testaments” by Margaret Atwood, which I didn’t expect to love but did. Often I was with my father, still himself and also not himself, floating in time.
October 14, 2019
Fall is hunting season for Pepper…
October 9, 2019
Sometimes a good dog sits in the sun and is still.
October 1, 2019
The grass in my yard crunches underfoot, yellow as straw in some places. Pepper rouses small tornadoes of dust as she chases the squirrels. Yet the trees remain mostly green heading into October – a dry green, a stubborn green – full of vitality even though some few leaves brown early and fall in the heat. Today’s poem by Mary Oliver says exactly what I …
September 15, 2019
I sat on the back patio in the late afternoon, watching the grass dry up and die in the heat and the leaves on the tulip poplar turn yellow and brown. The new dogwoods suffered too, not even six months in the ground, their tender, thirsty leaves curling inward upon themselves.
July 8, 2019
Try this, friends, when no one is around…
July 4, 2019
Perhaps you are up early, dear friend, as I am. Perhaps you have a moment to call your own before the day begins. I’d love to share some music and poetry and a book with you. Plus the bald eagle at Nashville International Airport which is – you know – surprising.
May 26, 2019
Sometimes the past reaches out and whispers words of peace. It whispers, strangely and beautifully, in my in-box. I’d love to share a poem written in 1924 by Hazel Wood, featured this week at the website Poem-A-Day.
April 21, 2019
Today’s poem is brought to you from three graveyards, a hymnal, and a free-range rooster.
April 14, 2019
In the season of blood red tulips and purple splotched petunias from Kroger,