on rewiring my arm language

Keep making beauty and good trouble in this world in any way you are able.

Sometimes, to find my way I go and do and risk.

... the promise of fresh-from-the-dirt french breakfast radishes makes all the effort worthwhile.

keen ears, open eyes & empty hands

We laugh. We hold hands. I promise to come home again.

We learn so much about ourselves there.

A leap of hope. A wink of mischief. Yabba dabba doo!

... where all is sorted, gifted, forgiven, and well enough.

Should a person without a terminal diagnosis have access to assisted self determined death?

A note with a small encouragement...

Innocence and existence entwined in one last dance.

At a crossroad I look for the glow of curiosity and follow.

Friendship between women busy raising children is whole-cloth woven from interrupted conversations sewn together with threads of goodwill...

photo by Noe Fornells @Unsplash Update from the Gently Down the Stream Department: I have been writing a lot of funerals... when I am...

How soup witches pass along their healing spells.

Be yourself. Do the work. Your people will find you.

Shaping the words that convey grief over one's agency.

I'm not sure why grieving elephants comfort me so. But they do.

I have never felt more relieved to come through a close shave unscathed.