Original Poetry

Original Poetry


This berrybox full of foxes
Cry moonsong to the light
With the crack and smash
Of the axeheads song
Singing through the night

Robins on the windowsill
Their wingbeats a lullaby
Sing a song of black birds
When the wind is in the rye

Carry the firewood through emerald grass
And passed the green ivy wall
Up to the oaken eagle door
Which speaks of the coming fall

There is Rosemary under the doormat
Mint and Lavender too
Calling to the Fates of Good Fortune
That dance where the West Wind blew

The altar waits in the tall grass
Where cats-paw will lead the way
Passed Blackberry and Roses
To something wild and fey

Stay there, safe in your own world
Unbroken and armor-clad
Call the rain, call the starfall, the dazzling light
And remember the dreams that you had.

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Monday Morning Photography



We’re missing home…

Technically, Fort Bragg California isn’t home- except that it has changed less over the years then my own childhood home has. I’ve been going there for as long as I can remember; stretched out on rickety hotel beds with my sister watching Back to the Future while my parents figured out where we’d go for dinner. Then years later, on my honeymoon. My husband and I go back every year now, usually multiple times; it gets in your bones, in your blood. Makes you ache for quiet streets and grey mornings, the sun shining off the sea, the cry of gulls over the harbor.

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