I walk to the river and see how the banks
have changed since even two days ago.
Now water flows through the bright red willows
instead of staying in the main channel.
I remember how it used to run right here
where I am standing until a mighty flash
flood altered its course and there was not
a damn thing anyone could have done to stop it.
There is, even now, a rising flood of love.
It will move anything that tries to impede it.
When I can’t hear the flood of love,
that’s when I know it is up to me to share love
so someone else hears the currents I’m listening for.
Together we make unstoppable waves—how they roar.
Archive for January, 2026
Currents
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged change, flood, love, river on January 31, 2026| Leave a Comment »
When They Asked Me, “What Is Your Current Hyperfixation”
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hyperfixation, kindness on January 30, 2026| 14 Comments »
I could have said potato chips. Always true. Plain ones. No flavors. Potato. Oil. Salt. I could have said black licorice from Finland, also always true. Or long flowy pants with no front pockets. That’s new. Tending my eight aloe babies still recovering from their transplant. Counting orchid buds about to bloom. How many grams of protein in a serving of anything. The insane softness of my daughter’s inner arm. How baby swifts can fly ten months without stopping. Imagining Rodin and Rilke watching sunsets together. But what I said felt truest of all—I am starved for all stories of kindness. The young man delivering diapers to immigrant families in Maine. The woman sending socks to my friend with cancer. The stranger who walked a labyrinth with me. My husband offering me the last egg in the carton. Anyone who smiles and says hello in the grocery store aisles. Anyone who says hello back.
In These Dark Days
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged amaryllis, dark times, hope, life, life force, trust on January 28, 2026| 4 Comments »
From what darkness in its center
does the amaryllis call forth
the tall green stalk, the muscular bud,
the voluptuous petals pealing back
from the center like radiant red bells?
What impossible sun shines
inside the rough-skinned bulb
to generate such lushness,
such extravagant beauty?
I want to know it, to trust it,
this bright immensity that pulses through
what is darkest in me, this life force
that cannot fit inside, that thrusts
through the desiccated skins
of my exhausted hopes to reveal itself
vulnerable and soft, vital, astonishing,
belonging to no one, alive within us all.
Listening for the Singing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged giraffe, peace, singing on January 27, 2026| 12 Comments »
Everything and everywhere is all here. It’s always been here.
—Bunkong Tuon, “Year of the Snake”
All the peace that has ever been
and will ever be is here now.
Hard not to focus
on the noose of injustice,
which is, of course, always here, too.
As it has always been.
As it will always be.
To praise the world is to praise it all.
How hard to praise it all.
I have heard giraffes make a low hum
in the night, a way, scientists think,
to help them find each other in the dark.
Perhaps this is why I find myself
singing so much in these darkened days—
a way to call to the others,
let them know as the noose tightens
we are here together.
And when it is especially hard,
I listen. Mostly, I trust peace is always here.
Still the relief to hear the singing.
I know am not alone.
Fact Checking
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alligator, facts, gator on January 27, 2026| 14 Comments »
When a gator is chasing you,
he said, you run away,
but zig zag. They can scent you,
and they’re fast, but they aren’t
agile enough to turn well. And
this is how I might have become
a gator bite. His advice sounded good,
and it was echoed by others I met,
but fact is the best bet to survive
a gator attack is to back up slow
with the hands in the air to look big.
If it charges, then run. Fast.
In a straight line. No zagging.
They’re quick, but tire easily on land.
How many other stories do I trust
every day, not thinking to look them up?
How many people have I fed to the gators?
The world has never been swampier.
The need to check what we’re told is great.
Look friend, here comes a gator even now.
Face him. Raise your arms. Back away slow.
Don’t turn your back if you can help it.
They look more like people than you’d think.
—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
In Broad Daylight
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Alex Pretti, beauty, loving the world, paradox, rage on January 26, 2026| 7 Comments »
I take my rage to the river.
A heron flies into the wind.
I let myself be opened
by the great gray wings
and the great gray sky
and the great gray largeness of water,
not to rid myself of rage
but to become a clearer channel
to meet the chest-scouring,
scab-clawing, cell-screaming,
throat-burning fury of rage
and remind my heart I can
know all this rage, can be
feral with rage and still
keep on loving the world.
One Inward
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged compromise, noncompromise, still, stoicism, wind on January 24, 2026| 2 Comments »
only when buffeted
by the windstorm do I truly notice
how still I can be
With My Open Heart as Bait
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, fishing, St. Simons on January 23, 2026| 1 Comment »
What are you catching today?
I asked the man on the pier.
Nothin’, he said.
What do you wish you were catching?
I asked.
Anything, he said.
And could I be so brave?
Could I throw out my line
to the ocean of the world,
stand there at the edge,
patient and still,
and say to life, anything,
anything at all, whatever you give me,
I’ll reel it in. I’ll take it.
A Great Shining
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged breath, connection, impossible dream, love, moon, peace on January 23, 2026| 1 Comment »
inspired by Maya Stein’s 10-line poem form
What if, in this moment, every person on earth thinks of someone who makes us feel cherished, known, safe? What if we let ourselves linger in this moment of connection? What might happen inside each body? What might happen in the world as in unison our breaths begin to even and slow? Would the pulsing of our hearts begin to synch, the way heart cells in a petri dish come to keep time with each other? What is earth if not a great experiment in which we are all both observer and observed? How long could it last, this rhythmic communion between jailor and prisoner, oppressor and oppressed, between fighter and fighter, maker and destroyer, parent and child, liar and believer, all of us thinking of love? Foolish, perhaps, to imagine such impossible moments. But more foolish not to imagine such things. Even now, I’m thinking of someone. It feels like the moon is inside me.
One Reflexive
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged eyes, loving the world, opening on January 21, 2026| 2 Comments »
the way the pupil knows
to widen in the dark
in these darkening days, this heart
The Channeling
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged divinity, fear, kindness, rising, uncertainty on January 20, 2026| 5 Comments »
We might as well be divine.
—Kate Horowitz, “i tell the ghost of carrie fisher the world is ending”
We might as well be divine.
As masked agents arrive
with guns, curses
and brutal disrespect,
we might as well be divine.
We might as well sing at the edge
of collapse, bring forth the kind
of harmony that calls goosebumps
to arms and hot tears to eyes.
As we march, as we gather,
as we fight for each other,
we might as well be divine.
As rivers shrink and sinkholes
appear and we face water
bankruptcy worldwide,
we might as well share
what is not ours to own.
And be kind to each other.
And praise what good we find.
This is it. It’s like this. Nothing
but now. What we bring,
who we are, this is all.
As tears fall fast and voices rise,
as fear grows thick and viscous,
we might as well be channels for grace,
we might as well be divine.
Four Chances to Play Poetry Online
Posted in Uncategorized on January 20, 2026| Leave a Comment »
The Art of Truly Seeing: Rilke & Rodin
January 28, Feb. 4, Feb 11. 11 a.m.-1 p.m. mountain time
with cultural historian Kayleen Asbo
recorded
A Meditation and Poetry Retreat for Challenging Times
February 7 & 8, 10 a.m. – 4:30 p.m mountain time both days
With eco-dharma teacher Susie Harrington
not recorded
Thresholds and Doorways: Writing into Life’s Inevitable Transitions
Feb. 26 & 27, 9 a.m.- 3 p.m. and 9 a.m.-noon mountain time
With Circles of Trust facilitator Marcia Eames-Sheavly,
hosted by Center for Courage and Renewal
not recorded
Writing for Refuge: An Online Poetry Retreat with James Crews
March 10, 17, 24, 31, 10-noon mountain time
recorded
Dear Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged America, citizen, dream, Martin Luther King on January 19, 2026| 6 Comments »
with language from the March on Washington Speech and the Letter from Birmingham Jail
Again we must learn how the destiny
of one citizen is the destiny of all.
We must learn we cannot walk alone.
The American dream of liberty
and justice for all is tarnished and torn
in the name of making our country great.
Where is our beacon? How many
deaths will it take? How much horror?
How much ache? Where is our dignity?
Where is our discipline? Where does
the dream still live? Is it in the icy streets
of Minnesota? In detention cells?
In the bare feet of the monks walking
our highways? In the hand-painted
protest signs all across America
proclaiming “We the People?”
Is the dream still alive in the gaps left
in government documents where words
have been banned, words such as “diversity,
woman, Native American, disparity,
inclusiveness, Black, equality, Hispanic,
oppression, community and immigrants?”
Is the dream in red blood in the snow?
In dried blood on the street? In voting booths?
In hope? Dr. King, you taught us we need not
be saints to make a difference. That like you,
we must show up frustrated and flawed as we are.
That freedom “must be demanded
by the oppressed.” Where is the dream?
Where does it live? How might it rise up
in our streets, recalibrate our minds,
and resonate like an anthem
ringing true in our chests?
In My Obituary
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daily life, long marriage, moments, obituary on January 17, 2026| 8 Comments »
They will not write
about how, every
night in sleep,
somehow my hand
found your hand,
or how, before dinner
each night we light
candles and then
say something kind
before we eat.
They will not mention
how you would do
dishes for me and I
would do dishes for you,
nor how I never once
needed to ask you
to wax my skis
because it was
already done.
But more than any
title or degree,
these daily moments
are what shape a life—
these moments that
make us, these moments
that no one else sees.
Meeting Our Mortality, Loving Each Other, Connecting through Heartache
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged mortality, podcast on January 17, 2026| 2 Comments »
Please join me for a very special, open-hearted conversation with Ned Buskirk on You’re Going to Die podcast.
- how loss creates community
- how a writing practice helps us show up
- shifting our creative practice from wanting to be good to be true
- recovering from perfectionism
- the difference between pain we must meet and pain we take on
- the power of reframing our stories with new metaphors
- how trust in a creative practice helps us bring trust to the rest of our lives
And then there’s a very special 15 minute conversation at the end of the episode with the folks behind the scenes on the podcast talking about what is happening now in Minnesota–connection, love, inspiration, fear, and showing up.
Looking Up at the Sky at Sunset
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, selfishness, sharing, sunset on January 17, 2026| 4 Comments »
So much radiance
above the horizon—
glowing pink, deeper pink—
I wanted to gather
it all and keep it,
hold it forever,
but where to
store something
that large? I
gathered all that beauty
in my heart,
my heart, a mockery
of a pocket. Of course
it spilled out. I put
the pink glow back
in the sky. It lit
the whole world.
After Angela Tells Me She’s Looking for Proof of Good in the World
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged good, inner beauty, walking on January 15, 2026| 8 Comments »
I go walking up a backcountry road
and for ten minutes, a crow flies above
and before me, resting in trees along the way,
as if showing me the way to go.
Someone has made smiley faces out of pebbles
and left them on many large flat stones.
And the orange jeep that passes me
pulls a U turn and Trevor jumps out
and says, “I just wanted to hug you.”
If I knew only this hour, it would be easy
to believe the world is only good.
But I carry in me the certainty
that rupture is part of the whole.
I know cruelty lives in us all.
I know, too, the white truck slowed down
when it passed me, as if the driver said,
walker, I will make sure you feel safe.
I know when I turned not just out but in,
I felt such genuine love for the world.
That love was the strongest proof of all.
When It’s Just All Too Much
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged despair, growth, inner resources, potato on January 14, 2026| 2 Comments »
The more complex the problem,
the more trapped, the more closed in I feel,
the more I learn to trust what is simple,
the way the potato in the cupboard
does the one thing it can do—
it calls on whatever thrives inside itself,
then grows doggedly, awkwardly toward the light.
I want to turn toward the life that lives through me.
Give it all my energy. Offer it back to the world.
In the Wing Dedicated to Heartbreaks
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged brokenness, bully, childhood memory, infinite, memory on January 13, 2026| 12 Comments »
after reading “The Reassembly” by Isabella Nesheiwat
In the museum of the chest, I find
on a dusty back shelf my old favorite lunch box
with Hollie Hobbie’s picture raised
on one metal side, her big blue
bonnet covering all of her face.
The box is dented from where Donny,
a grade older, kicked it that day
when I walked the shortcut home from school.
He told me Holly Hobbie was for babies.
I arrived home feeling dented, broken, too,
embarrassed to be myself.
I run my fingers over the cool silver latch
and open the lunch box again.
Empty now except for the old story
I told myself about my unworthiness.
Instead of listening to the story,
I listen to the emptiness. Hear my heart
beating true in my blood warm chest.
The heart says, What is infinite in you
survives all brokenness.
I write these words in the dust
on the shelf beside the box.
The museum curator doesn’t chastise me.
She smiles at what I wrote. She nods.