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wishing flower, vulnerable and beautiful

Let’s just say, I’m not an early morning girl.  Those who know me appreciate this and quietly leave me alone until I’ve had a chance to emerge from my pre-coffee zombie state.  However, there is a bird glee club that begins at about 3:30, yes in the morning.  It’s lovely and melodic; leaving me no choice but to listen.  Translated, this means I’ve been up before my norm.  The youthful hours are warm, but fresh; they beg for a walk, and so does Isabella.
Yesterday was a little cooler so our pace was speedy, at least for my little legs.  We passed cars and bushes and bugs zipping around … and the rejected weed.

pulled up by its roots discarded wishing flower tossed aside left at the edge of the sidewalk
the sun beat down life ebbing from the slender stalk, leaves drying, privately curling desperate to hold onto being
funny, how I noticed the thrown-away on a morning walk my thought to stop and pick up the mopped, fluffy head
full of wispy seeds of would-be, it held a fundamental artistry lying i…
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wind child of autumn

It's the last day in October, Halloween. The slant of the afternoon sun is low. My backyard is filled with so much sun in the summer, but now it wears long shadows from the neighbor's trees.

wind child, unseen, nevertheless felt no origin or home wind child comes and goes, disturbing all she blows through and past over and under, tossed and turned wind child blusters and plays a mirthful game of hide and seek
The wind is loud in the pines and junipers; melodic in the aspen that still holds onto a few leaves. Curdled clouds are blowing in and my cup sits half full, milky and sweet.

autumn:  a period of maturity verging on decline the free dictionary.com
Most of the leaves have fallen and gathered themselves into messy piles around the yard; a last magnificent burnished hoorah before everything becomes shades of grey dusted in white.

So, this afternoon I'll relish the faint warm rays as they touch my face, watch the shifting shadows play across the lavender and listen to the autum…

i'm glad i know you

After taking a writing hiatus this summer, it's time to be back. Just like I'm ready for a change of seasons, I'm also ready for a change in mindset and habits.

Summer brings camping and picnicking, farming and kayaking. I want to be outside every possible waking moment. My journals collected a lot of dust. And my thoughts drifted over how to combat aphids with ladybugs instead of putting ink to paper.

Now that I'm sitting with a long-sleeved t-shirt on, but still a pair of cut-offs, I'm ready to tap out some observations, introspections, quips, quirks and everyday stories. Thanks for reading. Thanks for listening to part of my life.


Around the corner, and a few houses down, live two little boys. They like playing barefoot, no matter the weather. Curiosity is ingrained in them, and Bella always gets lots of love when we walk by.

One recent morning I was told they were going to the river to climb over big gray rocks and look for crayfish and snakes. The younger brothe…

this farm. this field. this place

I sat down in a field to write.

It had been recently mowed, the bales already removed. The stubble was coarse and golden with a few seeds scattered here and there. Eventually, birds will eat them or they'll become part of the next crop.

The air was warm on my face, and I could hear crickets singing. It was bucolic and pastoral.

In the distance stood the old red barn. It used to house cows and pigs, and a store of hay for the winter. Now, a few jumbled things are left inside, and the only creatures are spiders, field mice and swallows.

A moss covered bird feeder swings in the gnarled apple tree. The small orchard is old, yet after all the years, it still yields fruit for the picking.

This place. This farm. This field holds many memories for me. My Granny's fried potatoes and squash, Papa's big old watermelons, cows gently grazing and chickens pecking around before becoming dinner.
Cast iron bath tubs were used as watering troughs. We kids used them as a spot to cool off, gre…

the struggle, the prayer

hands grasped, clutching, struggling it was just out-of-reach frustration, try again not to be defeated or disappointed it was right there attempts thwarted, why the obstruction it remained unattainable                   and slipped into oblivion

When I find myself in times of trouble...let it be...an appropriate Beatles song to hear in relation to these penned words.

People are struggling, coping: to succeed, to climb, to flourish, to acquire or to merely survive another day, month, year.

We all need hope. Tangible hope. Something that won't slip away.

What's tangible, anyway? Real, touchable, actual, nothing ethereal, but something to lay our hands on. I need that. You need that. We all need that.

Lord, help us. Give us hope. Give us peace. Give us love and patience, concern and compassion. Be within our grasp, don't slip into oblivion, or let us slip into oblivion.

Missy If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a frie…

road tripping: finding the elusive derrick cave

I was beginning to wonder whether it really existed. Maybe it only existed in the distant dreams of mountain men and bats leaving guano against lava walls; tubes and tunnels and caverns weaving a web underground.

It all began innocently enough while exploring cracks and crevices outside of the area surrounding Fort Rock. 
We'd gone on a late season camping trip with some friends. You know the type, where nights are cold and stars are visible in the ink above, with days breaking into sunlit skies and moderate temperatures.

The initial destination was Crack in the Ground and a roadside diner in Christmas Valley that dishes up darn good Reuben sandwiches. Like most park sites, there's always a map and legend with other scenic spots to check out. And, one such sign told of a cave that was cold and needed reliable illumination. The name, the words, set the marble into motion - the quest which became a crusade to find Derrick Cave.


It seemed real enough. There was a sign with a basic…

cool girl

I started to clean the house.  It's a weekly routine, dusting, vacuuming, the regular stuff, basically mundane. And I couldn't seem to focus, flitting from task to task like a moth searching for light.

Cool, down-tempo music beat in the background. 
You know, the kind of stuff you'd hear at a totally chill night club. That's where the pretty people go to sip pretty cocktails. And here I was in jeans with a hole in the knee and a baggie sweater.

I sat down for a cup of Chai and picked up my notebook; abandoning the cleaning.
I allowed myself to be transported by the acoustics to that vibing club. In my imagination, I walked in pulsing to the sounds. I wore a mod black slip dress, hair slightly messy with sun-kissed bare arms and legs.

Several years ago I might have pulled this off. Now, as an old woman, I still have the down beat in my soul and the messy hair; my legs and arms are waiting for the sun to come kiss them. Inside, I'm a cool girl. However, she's disg…

i'm circular

Ever feel like you're living in a roundabout? Where I live, we have several. They move traffic well, except when they don't. And of course, we all remember the scene from European Vacation where Chevy Chase keeps going round and round the Arc de Triomphe. There seemed to be no way out of the never-ending circle.

i'm circular
my weary mind a looping maze
all the paths it wanders come back to the same spot
i try to jump out of the hamster wheel
as it spins faster, but the centrifugal force holds me, stuck

Yeah, that's me. I'm circling around. Going through motions, held in place. Why can't I slow it down or make it stop?

i'm circular
revisiting habits and manners of being
how do i shatter those patterns so ingrained
rutted in the psyche
pushing hard on the lines that inhibit and restrain
one hand reaches through a thin place

As hard as I try, we try, the same stuff keeps coming up and back around. I become indistinct in the same grooves.

i'm circular
a top wound up t…