What the Wind Carries

Fragments gathered from the edges of ordinary days: photographs, thoughts, moments of tenderness, weathered beauty, and the quiet things that return to us.

[what-the-wind-carries]

I will lay my weary head upon a soft bed of earth, knowing only the heartbeat of life against mine.

[what-the-wind-carries]

Good Night

Good night

to the scattered leaves of my mistakes,

to the shadows of wrongs I never meant to cast,

to the unfinished ladders of my reaching,

to the sorrow of not-enoughness that echoed in my chest.

Good night

to the quiet fear wrapped around my ankles,

to the longing to be more

for those I hold in my heart.

And to the dreams,

folded like letters beneath my pillow.

Good night,

even to the ember of courage

glowing softly within my spirit.

It will rise with me

in the quiet before dawn,

to try again.

To live fully.

This beautiful,

tender life.

[what-the-wind-carries]

The first thing you notice

is the way she stands,

eyes sharp,

holding both alley and open land.

There is a black sheen to her,

feathers catching the light.

Her head tilts,

catching something just beyond sound.

She caws and clicks,

while the wind carries a truth

we both understand.

[what-the-wind-carries]

if there were one gift

i could give,

it would be

to see yourself

through the eyes of someone who loves you.

[what-the-wind-carries]

The day fades softly into the pastels of the in-between.

The last colorful whisper of goodbye slips quietly into night.

I feel the waters ripple within me,

answering the rising moon

and the beckoning stars.

[what-the-wind-carries]

Favorite Trees

I have favorite trees everywhere I go.

On this side of Sugarite, where the canyon leans close.

Over the pass to Trinidad, where the road opens to sky.

At the Maxwell Wildlife Refuge, where antelope graze beneath their watch.

Along the Climax Canyon trail, where the wild walks almost close enough to touch.

In Taos, where I once camped, and the night pressed its stars against the branches.

On the road to doctor’s appointments, companions through dread and resilience.

At the hotel, quiet companions amid the noise of arrivals and departures.

Even in Minnesota, far from home, where I stood as a guest and somehow belonged.

Today, in my own neighborhood, where I sit beneath their shade, watching the leaves dance.

On the other side of Sugarite, where the dancing oaks keep company with the pines.

I think

they’ve been keeping me company

all along.

[what-the-wind-carries]

It is in these quiet moments that my heart is free.

Gratitude grows there, blooms there, shines through me.

I have spent my life reaching toward the unnameable,

longing to touch the mystery just beyond the edges of my understanding.

So I write.

I photograph.

I sit in silence,

inviting the words to rise.

[what-the-wind-carries]

Sitting at Sugarite

in this place, i can almost hear all the answers to every question i have ever asked.

all of life’s secrets unfolding before me in each blade of grass, each passing cloud, every whispered change of light, every bird’s song, every breath of the canyon wind.

and i wonder…

if i sat here long enough,

would i know the secrets of life itself?

or would a million more questions be born with every changing moment?

[what-the-wind-carries]

if we could each spend one ordinary day

inside each other’s lives,

perhaps

we would both return more gentle

than we left.

[what-the-wind-carries]

a memory is a song

we sing

to reconnect

to the love

that never ends.

[what-the-wind-carries]

i almost can’t remember who i was before this beauty found me.

before the Quiet lit the universe from within.

before the darkness split open and burst into life,

offering this gift of sight to one who had been walking blind.

[what-the-wind-carries]

the wind in the trees. the warmth of a hand. dogs asleep nearby.

the whole universe

whispering yes.

[what-the-wind-carries]

the door opened,

and my fierce little wolf pack raced into the darkness,

using their ancient gifts

to protect their half-awake, creaky-voiced mama.

[what-the-wind-carries]

I didn’t mean to steal the moment,

but it looked so unattended,

left out in the open

as though inviting me to whisk it away.

What might I do with a moment such as this?

[what-the-wind-carries]

The waters have slowed, the storm has quieted.

Yet the fog remains.

My heart is adrift…

unmoored,

quiet.

[what-the-wind-carries]

I do not want a life that ends in the same shape it began.

I want to grow antlers,

collect the blue from ravens’ wings,

and make friends with the fern that grows sideways.

[what-the-wind-carries]

There are moments

when the simple act

of being alive

breathing,

seeing,

feeling

is so achingly beautiful

that it brings tears

to my eyes.