soft and dear and love 

This world can be 

so very hard

with lots of rough edges

and people,

to scrape ourselves 


Which is why

we must do our best

to tuck all that is

soft and dear and 


inside of us,

giving it the

most sacred of space. 

Then carry it 

with us-

so we may always 

have grace and warmth

and a place to belong-

wherever our feet

may go. 



Fare thee well,

Changing. Love.
Running. Towards.
Love. Belonging.
Cats. Dogs. Home.
Poetry. Writing. Salvation.
Apart. Together. Tribe.
Uncoming. Becoming.
Shifting. Evolving. Love.
Wild. Tired. Seasons.
Changing. Belonging.
Becoming. Uncoming.
Sam. Frodo. Shire.
E. Me. Love.
And more Love.



We cannot undo the dos
that have been done.
Or take back the steps
that have journeyed us
to this time and place.
But we can take the hand
of our younger self and say:

My love you did the best
you knew to do.
Or maybe you knew,
but you did it anyways.
What a beautiful gift
to be so human,
you can know the grace
of your own regrets
and experience the fullness
of your own imperfections.

For we are not here
to walk a perfect path,
but to travel life’s trail,
in all it’s confusing splendor,
of what it means to be
real and whole and true.



The mountains

and the fields

and the trees

and the streams, 

they are my church,

my sanctuary. 

The places I go

to know myself 


And though 

I sometimes 

find myself lost 

in the crowd 

or realize 

I’m all askew-

as I unwittingly bent

to shape myself

to others needs,

there are no 

bendings or losings 


Just the sense

of being held

by something vaster

than myself 

with miles of space

to be nothing

but me. 



Write this down

and serve notice

to yourself,

each sacred day

of your sky kissed life: 

You are significant. 

You are magnificent. 

And most importantly-

in a space that houses

the infinite wonders

of a hundred billion stars-

You Are Here. 

Your existence holds

a place among all that 

gorgeous stardust. 

Don’t ever forget 

my friend, 

you count-

a very great deal-

for something



I have found myself
a hundred times over
in these woods

Beneath a sky
who never quits
and an earth so loyal
she lays herself bare,
and offers herself up
to the passage

I ask her
each time
of the answers
I come to seek

And in all her
mud splayed beauty
she always gives
the same response:

Above all else,
what is REAL