tiny things

Maybe this is why I hang onto my rocks: they’re the parts of myself I know are true, and that I secretly love, like how I feel on the top of a mountain or along a stream bed. They remind me of my smallness, and that when I’m sad and the world is sad, there’s beauty out there, existing all the time. Plus, they’re just lovely to look at...

shades of teal

My arms can remember the effort it took to heave open the thick front doors of her house with my small body, and my hands the cold, tacky feel of the wood banister that led to the second floor. Even though they’re the farthest away, most of my memories are of being a child in that big house surrounded by tall people...  

hemlock

I sat down and unscrewed the lid to my thermos. The tea was still a bit too hot. I looked out to the marshes, which were golden, and then around at the ground foliage just emerging, then out to the water, and then up at the canopy of dark green needles. The morning sunlight filtering through made some kind of magic as I rested with my eyes closed, taking in the quiet. I was alone, and felt it, for the first time in a long time. It was medicine. Before I left this little sanctuary, I kissed the Hemlock, and then headed back to sit down by the water. I had been waiting for these woods for a very, very long time...