Suddenly Spring.


ltr spring


spring leaf 2
Suddenly it’s spring and you’re busy and no matter that the days are longer, there still aren’t enough hours in every day, or energy in the body to do all you want to, need to, should do…

Tired, a little sore, and somewhat sunburned, and yet it feels good.  Just a little longer out there, one more thing, and do you really have to go in just yet? Paper work begins to pile.. Bare hands, wool cap stuffed in the pocket of your unzipped jacket. Only to pull that cap out five minutes later as the next snowstorm blows on through. Yeah, welcome to Colorado. Chapped lips, eyes parched from the wind, mud and snow banks, and geese in potholes on pasture.  It’s Spring

Outdoors work is great, but sometimes I need to go beyond, to see and feel her in silence. Out there, alone together. Be a part of this progression of the season.

Walking with the dog for the first time on semi-solid ground out there in a passing storm miles from my house which is miles and miles from any other around here now. And suddenly the roar of what sounds like a jet engine across river. Rotten snow descends the mountain in a violent rush.
I’m glad I’m here, not there.



brewster park
A raw wound
You’re left bleeding
by the side of
the road that leads out of town

To a place you’ve never been
and you remember
Anything’s better
than here

an open mouth of
Fish underwater Breathing
through muddy waters Gushing
down brown slopes

Did you think
it would be harder?
Did you know maybe you are

right where you belong


pole mountain


spring leaf


over the res

Moon rises later now. I walk the dog with flashlight in blackness as clouds cover even the tiny sparkles up above that usually light our way.   With melted snow, even the ground is dark. Finding significance in the insignificance when I look up at the stars. Or is it the release of significance that brings us peace?

A pair of miller moths gently bang against my window as I sit at the table back in by the light. It’s mid April. Funny the things we are seeing.

In the early morning hours, moonlight floods the cabin. In the quiet and still, here on the sofa with the wood stove hissing and crackling behind me and the sky turning a dusty blue, I could sleep. I could close my eyes and let go and listen to the familiar sounds and be comfortable and warm and drift off. I know I should be writing…

Wake up! It’s spring. Plenty to do. Get up, get out, get to work…

The guys are still asleep. Life with family. My life is not just about me. It’s We. My decisions affect us all. And although I may not have the freedoms I once had, I have so much more. I’ll pass on what I had and am grateful for what I have.  Yes, and still want so much more. Thank god it’s only “mid life” I’m in.

forrest 1 (2)



justin 6


forrest 3


gunnar (2)
Continuing work on The Art of the Portrait. Because there is beauty within every one. Looking through a focused lens helps us filter what may be otherwise blurred by our own tangled minds.

These things are not found in the fast and easy nor with instant gratification.  A metaphor for society.

I leave you with this. The Art of the Selfie?
Go ahead. Laugh. No one should take themselves too seriously. When really, what I’m working on is the Art of the Portrait.  Since I don’t have a lot of willing victims around here, I have to run in front of my own camera from time to time. Okay, keep in mind a few things here. First, I’m almost fifty. Second, I don’t wear a stitch of make up or dye my hair. Third, I spend a lot of time outdoors… Yes, yes, I know. Excuses, excuses. But what we’re looking for the light, the composition, the essence if you will.  Capturing a mood.  Not a pretty face.
Is it self gratification or seeking understanding?  A reflection within.   A sense of who and where we are in the bigger picture.  Only more often than not, we rush it and compromise results and are too quick to move on to what’s next.  What is your place?  What is mine?  Ever changing.  How do we define our place of in between? It is our nature to need to know.
At “almost fifty” I am not the wild young woman I once was. I don’t care to go back there. It was fun, I survived, now I’m done. Yet still so far the wise old crone so quick to offer advice or silent in her seemingly eternal wisdom.

Who’s next?