Dare to live intentionally, creatively, and authentically


what we see when we're not too busy to stop and consider

Is it time to tell the story of the dog in the city or of the deer trapped inside the chain link corridor which ends at the train tracks?

I was thinking about tea leaves this morning. Tea leaves and leaf prints. And then I thought tree leaves. I’d like to be one of the few people who read tree leaves. I feel like I should be able to understand them. They are no more haphazard than runes, than cards drawn and laid on a table. It makes me think that there’s some agreement between the wind and the trees to lay them on the ground just so.

My true love only asks and insists that I be me, with all the iterations of me, including hair, smells, bad attitude as well as happy, creative and sexy. And I believe that’s the first time anyone’s really wanted that from me.

I wonder what the land looks like to the birds when they’re flying; when they aim somewhere, when they’re following a route only they understand. Maybe they see a landscape anchored by the tallest trees or water or food. I’m sure it has nothing to do with me.

I do not miss those single days when I left a house I did not belong to, feeling like a stranger everywhere.

I had forgotten the joy of flowers.

I can choose to walk in the sun and some days I can just walk, and that’s good enough.

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