Here I sit. In my coffee shop. The one with the rough brick walls and the shadowed light and the rooms that I weave through as if I was at home. Here, I am at home. I am always and never at home. The rain is coming down outside. Hammering …
embers of grace and grit {a love letter for driftwood hearts}
Dear you. I know you. I know you wear your heart on your sleeve. I know that heart is pieced together from soft driftwood and tattered suitcases and old skeleton keys and the shards of pottery you’ve tucked in your pockets from all the things you’ve seen break along your …
Set your wild free.
Why are you so determined to keep your wild silently inside you? Let it breathe. Give it a voice. Let it roll out of you on the wide open waves. Set it free.
art is always real
We were in Julie’s room one night, my eldest daughter and I. I wanted to show her how the canvas painting she had carefully labored over for Julie’s Christmas gift was framed and hung on the wall. I said, gazing at her masterpiece with no small amount of motherly pride, …
