“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


decembering into january

the fog wakes me.
a white wildflower the size of my fingerprint
reaches for my foot as i pass.


a week of no words.
unexplained, not on purpose, the silence just descended.
stories stopping mid sentence,
poems hanging
mid thought
mid breath
mid wish
words clinging by ragged fingernails to what was.

last night i fell asleep on the couch early, home from a long massage, the perfect position temperature pillow, facing inward facing the cat sprawled above me, the darkness covering us, my soul relaxing exhaling, these last days of nothingness spread beneath me.  

finding my way to what is.
thoughts of a wounded coyote,
that terry allen painting,
friends who feel forgotten.
15 years fatherless on new year's eve,
still new to motherless.

i crawl to sleep and dream.



  1. sometimes i have no words after reading one of your posts ... yours leave me in beautiful silence.

  2. amen to sarah's comment. sometimes there are no words. you said them so perfectly.
    to a happier year for you. for finding yourself. for silence.
    in fond regard, Tilda

  3. i crawl to sleep and dream
    finding my way to what is...

    yes. sweet dreams to you.

  4. this is so beautiful and sad, you are remarkable.

  5. New Years eve, 41 years married, This year husbandless! You struck a chord as I crawl to sleep too

  6. You always make me stop and take a deep breath.

    Sending you much love and wishes for a wonderful wonderful wonderful 2012.


  7. I was there too. Beaautifully put! I believe the silence is a prayer...for the soul maybe. An etherial healing. ...and though temporary, necessary.


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