Dusk chorus, rail track, river.
Raisin Sourdough Bread- I milled the whole wheat flour, fed the sourdough starter, made the dough; my favorite part is a dash of coriander.
White lace, flowers, jewelry, candles, pebbles, an earbud; respect for Emily still and always
I walked away from her home and down the street to her grave. Lady in white, my heart’s kin
Emily Dickinson’s house; the white oak knew her life. So many of her years, she never left.
Down the street from her house, yet she wouldn’t go. I understood somehow.
A pilgrimage to Amherst to pay homage to Emily Dickinson, passing her family’s church
Evening chorus; almost home.
I wish to ask these large river tricksters to adopt me, nudge me on as their cousins once did.
A large owl perched on top of the flagpole just down the hill from my door.
Just past my front door the sprawling forest, laden with snow. Broken open, no longer a snowglobe world.
And all the bare trees told him, let go, let go.
Crow tracks, just outside my door.