Come sister,

With me, under our moon.

Let us throw a circle,

And soak in our ancient rites.

We are among the trees here.

Quiet and bright.

The night is full of new beginnings 

And magic.

The start of things new,

So come out!

Come out of your house so grand sister,

And throw our circle under the moon.

She washed her brushes

slow intention.

The warm water splashed her wrist

sending the memory 

of the morning’s perfume

into the air.

She remembered.

She was a woman.

Spent the day away, thinking about our sweet Lily, who would have been 9 today. We chose to unplug from FB, email texts, etc. We cried and yelled and dumped our feelings out on the floor to pick them out and sort them. We went to the mountains, and watched the river run and continually renew itself. We were quiet. We showed mutual compassion, and we survived another year. 

Weed
She’s a lovely little daisy, 

With a broken stem,

Waiting for a rich man to pluck her.

Take her home to his vase.
Me, I grow wherever I land,

Lawns, gardens, playgrounds, and between rocks.

My dandelion roots are deep, 

And I can be hard to get rid of once I have settled in.

I bloom easily and early,

And require no care.

And while some call me a weed,

The bees flock to me,

And call me food.