The Moon Rte 68

  Last night I sang to the moon. It was my small bow to the seasonal change. 

  When I lived on Long Island nature was there, but I ignored the signs, the little cues that tell us that the seasons are changing. I remember being surprised when the leaves changed color or when the crocuses bloomed.

  There was a lot more distraction on Long Island, things like traffic and parking and lines and crowds.

  I began to see that my life there was empty and sad. I was unhappy there and didn’t discover until later  that it wasn’t the place, it was me. I began to break away from my life there and the people I knew. 

  I needed a new place, a spot that I could heal and discover the person within. I needed to make some new memories. 

  My new home, a small village nestled in a valley in upstate NY is a quiet peaceful place where the line between nature and human civilization is almost nonexistent.   

  The absence of daily hassle to live on Long Island allows me to pay attention to the signs of the seasons, marking time in the way that it has been done for centuries. 

   In the fall and winter, you feel everything drawing inward, responding to the cycles of nature, our Earth.

Fields lie fallow, soil sleeping renewing itself for planting in the spring. Trees lose their proud colors and wait until the Mother gives them the sign to grow. 

  The light is thin and the colors are muted and washed out in fall. In the winter the light changes, refracting off the ever present snow. 

  In the morning, after sunrise, there is a deep profound quiet. I’ve never experienced that before. An invitation to stop, look and listen. 

   The place has become home to me, I feel it inside me now, an organic, intrinsic part of my self.

  The quiet has forced me to look inward to challenge myself and stop hiding from the world. 

  So when I stopped on that dark country road and sang to the moon to celebrate the change of season, I knew it as something from deep within me. 

  I was honoring Nature, thanking her for helping me on my journey.

 I was singing my song, my life.




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Clouds and Sky

  The last couple of days we have been blessed with high clouds and bright sunny days. I look out my windows and see the fluffy cumulus clouds and immediately alter my walking route to one that is under that big sky. It’s not far and I walk and look at the ever changing sky above me. 

  I feel as if the sky is a mirror of my life right now. Big white clouds, simple or complex as you see them, images seen or not if you choose, scudding across the sky in an ever changing tableau. 

  Lately I feel as if there are new emotions and feelings coming forth and being seen and heard. 

  And it is hard to keep up with my own ever changing scene inside my head. But I’m not complaining.

  It is fascinating and new to me,following new pathways of thought. There is a clarity to them, brilliant in color and light.

  No more all encompassing fear that would wrap itself around me like a fog blanket, obstructing my vision and dulling my hearing, and allowing me to hide from my life.

 So today on the first day of Spring 

I look to the skies overhead that mirror the translucency in my mind.   

  My life is clear to me, new roads to follow, discoveries to be revealed. Moving ever forward.

  And on my way home from work tonight, I will stop at a place by the side of the road and in the light of the full moon, sing a quiet song of joy and thanks. 



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Spring Greens





I stopped by the farmstand belonging to Happenchance Farms on the way to work because I noticed they had spinach for sale.

Like many roadside stands around here, you pay by the honor system, leaving your money in a metal contraption that you deposit your cash in and then turn so it falls into the bottom,  like an old fashioned kid’s saving bank.

I took my spinach home and sautéed some mushrooms with garlic and olive oil and red pepper flakes and lemon juice and had that for dinner over brown rice. So good.

A little introduction to the changing season; soon I’ll be buying all my fruits and vegetables from the farm stands.

A bountiful time eagerly anticipated.


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The Destiny of Snow


The Destiny of Snow

What is my fate

Thought the smallest flake

To sift with the others 

And become one with them

And disappear 

How does it feel to melt

Not knowing if anyone recalls 

The drifting dance

The fleeting moment

On an eyelash 

Or a child’s tongue.

To share a similar destiny

What would that be like?

To glide on a breeze

Into a heart and for an instant

The present is the future.

And time is irrelevant.

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On a Day Like Today

On a day like today, I wish I was a wild thing, running leaping with abandon,


Wild Thing

smelling the scents on the wind reading the news on the woodland trails, hearing and seeing the arrival of spring through an animal’s senses.

But I am not an animal.

I am a human and I rejoice in the warm weather by unzipping my jacket, breathing in the warm air that carresses my lungs, hearing the sounds of the birds as they go about their spring cleaning and smelling the awakened loamy scents of the soil as it gets ready to nurture green things.

And my imagination stays with the wild running animal that I see when I close my eyes.

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Alive at Night



Frozen in grace

Cold remote metal 

In the sunless light of day

The statue comes alive

At night

Absorbing the warmth

Of candlelight 

Caught in a moment 

Between night and day


Warming to the touch

Seeing the possibilities.

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The Tree Oversees



D6C95EC1-B2BA-4876-A7DD-693B833BBD59   In my travels today I wandered off Route 59 and came upon this small farm. I was about to drive past when I saw a small family cemetery just beyond the back of the farm.

I stopped and looked. Really looked. I saw this beautiful old tree, bare branches hanging over the graves within the little fenced burial site.

I thought maybe the family that settled the land so many years ago chose that spot for their family to be laid to rest beneath the protective loving branches of that big old tree.


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