She doesn’t know my face or my name but she held me afloat. Courage comes in many colors but her kind glows in the dark. I gave her my biggest fears and she handed me her dreams, the silly ones that made me laugh when I felt emptied out inside. She walked the...
Seedpod of iris. What a perfect image for Mimi, the consummate gardener! How many gardens of hers have I helped dig, transplant; watched her preside over; shared the bounty from; commented on the design for . . . In Andover, her garden wound around drive and...
Writing is a magic act, like slipping into the space of a pocket door between layers of drywall, contorting into a fold of space-time. All around me, the house vibrates with activity, oblivious to my sorcery. The song within, the chorus surrounding, bloodlines...
I’m 68. I lived for decades with a poet’s soul, hoarding scraps of paper in drawers. I earned a living doing traditional communications work – editing and producing brochures, press releases, and annual reports; proofreading publications;...
I get my best ideas folding laundry. From the bedroom window of the home I work from as a nanny three days a week, I can see the Cascade range, the glitter of Lake Washington, and the inverted bowl of clouds that so often rests on top of Mt. Rainier. Words and...
