Grief is a sacred journey

My Land and Home

When the Bluebirds Fledged

Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom. How do they learn it? They fall, and falling, they’re given wings. ―Rumi. In April, the female claimed the nesting box closest to my house, just down the driveway where

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6 Ways to Invite Love to a Death Anniversary

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within  yourself that have been built against it.” ~Rumi On June 3, the ninth anniversary of my husband Vic’s death,

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The Delicate Dance between Mother and Crone

My son Anthony sent a text last week. “Leaving San Francisco now.” Their move to rural New York had been planned for many months, so that was no surprise. I wanted to write back: “Watch out for snow

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Gardening is a Spiritual Practice

We walked through a maze of flowered paths in Montreux, Switzerland. My husband Vic rolled a ball with our young son David so I could talk with Paul Brunton, the elderly philosopher we’d come to visit. In 1973 during our

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How is a Buddhist Monk like a Butterfly?

I don’t grasp the subtleties of Buddhist philosophic teachings or understand the mechanics of flight, but I know the beauty of a Korean monk opening his heart and a Fritillary opening her golden wings. I touch inner stillness as a Monarch sips nectar and the

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Planting Life at a Time of Sorrow

My brother Jim seemed steady and a little stronger last week. There was talk of releasing him from the hospital to rehab, so I drove seven hours home to deal with what I’d left behind. I needed

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Solo on a Bench Built for Two

“We’ll sit here in the afternoon sun when we’re old and too tired to walk,” Vic said when we designed a deck with a two-person bench shielded from the wind. “We’ll watch sunsets here.” He dubbed it

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Wild Nights: 2015

A New Year’s gift of night skies and poems of joy and hope. Photos labeled “at home” were taken on my hill on the east side of Seneca Lake in the New York Finger Lakes. In 1972, my husband

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Unintended Consequences, Unexpected Gifts

First the old car had to be replaced, the one Vic and I bought before he got sick. Then the kitchen drain clogged and flooded the floor. Water dripped through the pine boards to the cellar. I called

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Grieving for a Sacred Grove

“Let’s walk the Ravine Trail,” my son Anthony said. This Finger Lakes National Forest trail isn’t far from my property, but I hadn’t been there this season. A killer threatens this small grove of hemlocks: Hemlock wooly adelgid, a native

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