Powerful Peace

The sound of water
rushing over rocks-
A demonstration of power.
An offering of peace.
Where does one end?
Where does the other begin?
What is the source?
Is it the water? The wind?
What about the rocks?
Unmoving, they tolerate
the rushing water.
Over time, the water smoothes
their rough edges.
And the wind? It freely carries
their story of transformation.
Listen. Can you hear their song?
A message of determination, finding
Peace in the middle of chaos.
Can you hear your story in theirs?

Spokane Falls

Riverfront Park-Spokane, Washington 💙

Where am I?

Above or below, a scene unfolds.
Questions are a necessity.
Are those white frothy peaks
On wind-tossed waters?
Is that a tundra covered in snow?
Are those mountains in the distance?
Or simply a bank of storm clouds?
I see them from below almost every day.
Viewing from above offers new perspectives.
It requires engineering and mechanics.
Logic combined with wonder and awe.
Below, I stand firmly on the ground.
Above, I fly, unsure of my place.
Above or below, a scene unfolds.
Questions are a necessity.

Somewhere over the PNW. 💙🤍✈️

Simply Sunday

Around Here


Welcome! Have you visited the park before?

Oh, yes. I grew up around here.

Well, welcome back!


Kind words, friendly smiles.
Surrounded by nature.
Glass walls for viewing.
Birds flitting from tree to tree.
Squirrels scurrying across rocks.
Giant pines swaying, drawing eyes
toward slabs of slate lining the mountain.
I remember the views from above.
The world below seemed smaller
and bigger at the same time.
Perhaps I need to experience
that view again. An observer,
with added wisdom?
But for today, I’ll simply
enjoy the memory of
growing up around here.

Pinnacle Mountain State Park 💚

Straight Ahead

It wasn’t supposed to rain.
But when I stepped outside,
raindrops landed on my head,
my face and my arms.
They dried almost as quickly as they fell.
Strange, no gray clouds in sight.
Looking straight ahead, while
turning a 360-degree radius,
there was a mix of
bright blue,
fluffy white,
and daylight.
Where was the gray?
Directly overhead.
I suddenly felt like a cartoon character.
You know the one.
Aimlessly lumbering across a happy scene,
accompanied by a single rain cloud.
It’s curious, today is clear and sunny.
And I miss the raindrops.

Simply Sunday

Constantly interrupted sleep,
a cycle of words and phrases
repeating and evolving
between quiet moments.
When morning came,
the words were gone.
As if they’d never crossed my mind.
Just as I’d put aside
any attempt at recovery,
a beautiful blank slate appeared.
Its location? A pleasant surprise.
A page of blue surrounded
by white clouds and sunshine
I think my day just wrote itself.

A rectangle in the sky. 💙😉

Whispering Blue


A little patch of pale blue
Whispered my name
After the storm.
Rain had fallen
So hard, the sky was
No longer visible.
I could barely see
The road in front of me.
My shoulders tensed.
My chest tightened.
My heart grew heavy.
As the storm passed,
My body relaxed, tired.
But the heaviness
In my heart remained.
Even the little patch of blue
Couldn’t lighten the weight.
But that’s okay.
That wasn’t its purpose.
The little patch of blue
Whispered my name to
Shift my gaze and remind me-
Look for the good.
Trust that the storm will pass.

Simply Sunday

Light and Shadow

I sat with
The heaviness
All-day-long
My heart wrapped
In a blanket of grief
The day wrapped
In weeping clouds

A peak of the sun
Broke my stillness
Only a glance
Out the window
Surely, I should not soak it in
How could I?
Amid so much suffering

That sweet sunshine
Not to be ignored
Determined to draw me out
Shone a little brighter
Bravely displaying
Light and shadow
Simultaneously

I couldn’t help
Whispering
Thank you
Even as my heart
Continued to cry

Today, I am sharing a poem from my recent collection, When the Glass Breaks. Once again, the day, the world, feels anything but simple. And I know there are no simple answers. But I am reminded of the following quote.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” Martin Luther King, Jr.

Fourth of July

I decided to revisit a poem I wrote several years ago. Made a few changes, but the story remains the same. It just felt like the right one to share this year.

Grandpa

Grandpa worked hard
his entire life.
He married young.
He and Grandma
raised nine kids
in the country.

Strong and stubborn,
but loved to laugh.
Mellowed over time.
Without a doubt,
dealt with struggles
I never knew.

I can see him
wearing overalls
after a long day.
Promising to dance
at my wedding, if
I’d fetch what he needed.

Liked to argue.
Loved his family.
He was always ready to
welcome them home.
Looking forward to a
Family gathering that very day.

But in the morning,
while everyone slept,
He woke early.
Put the coffee on.
Then sat down in
his favorite chair.

At the young age of sixty-seven,
Grandpa died.
It was the Fourth of July.

Considering Blue


Have you considered
how many shades of blue
grace the sky in a single day?
Some are so deep and mysterious,
my eyes can hardly look away.
Reminds me of the truth
that there is always
another storm somewhere
in the distance.
And then there is a blue
so soft and pale, it must be
the reflection of a blanket
gently wrapped around
a brand new baby.
I can’t forget the bright
patches of clear-sky-blue.
Like pages from a storybook,
transporting me to childhood memories
of running and playing outside.
I’m beginning to understand
why blue is my favorite color.