I would send you a photo, but you should really see for yourself. She is not just a sight, but also a place--one where you can go, a whole atmosphere of pink and white; a city of barnacled branch; a monument of fullness and fragility. So much of her is already gone-- there on the grass, a mosaic of oxidizing petals--and yet, she is missing nothing. Her blooms are more outstretched this year than I've ever seen; her canopy, so vast that when we go for a walk, a tall friend say

I am looking for a hopeless woman. Not the kind you're thinking of, drinking alone at the dive bar, dissolving into dramas on the mid-day screen. No–I want a woman who has given up those distractions, who has surrendered the search for escape, betterment, or balm. I am looking for a hopeless woman. A woman who, in the morning, before her coffee, steps outside with her aging dog, and sits where it is damp. A woman who watches for what the hawk will do and helps a worm find the

A friend I haven't seen in a while comes over for cake. I've made carrot with cream cheese, lemon with glaze. I want to be a woman who's done something, who's made something with the time she has. I listen while my friends talks. My eyes track the waning slices on the faded red plate, shaped like a crescent moon, or a mouth. Inside of a pause, I ask if she'd like to go outside. It is early January, cold and bright. The pool feels to your limbs like the river where boys swim,

Just because your hand is free, doesn’t mean you should use it. For instance—the baby in your arms: she is small enough to tuck into an elbow crook; the morning quiet enough to get some work done. But it doesn’t mean your fingers should wander—to the pen, the dish rack, the dog. As I sit here, in the second hour’s palm, I have to remind myself that my niece is not a thing I am carrying; She is a soul, a presence, the comet in slow motion, the current who ceaselessly carrie

Only one more day of this. So let me be with it-- like I would a child or pet. Something alive and never again.  All these things I...

For her toast for her period for the test results for his text for the words for some silence for someone to see for a witness for anyone...

By David Whyte ​​I just have to look and I see, I just have to listen and I hear. I need only the slightest desire for anything to find,...

It is hard to get a pit out of a plum. Harder than a seed or pimple or splinter. It isn’t a loose or free thing wanting to be born into...

I used to say, when asked about napping, "I can't. I'm too anxious." but anxiety exhausts me And around two or three en la tarde,...

With the dog's breath howling in the labyrinth of my ear with the wet of his nose plastering my hair with my own heartbeat punching...