Saturday, October 27, 2012

theme park

I've never been comfortable at a shopping mall or theme park and have felt somehow apologetic and out-of-sync about that. Give me a mulchy path to meander instead: earth, trees, leaves, wind, light, sky, nature. In the clear-headedness of morning, with the birds and the chipmunks and the moss-covered rocks at stream's edge. It's the creation story all over again. Thoughts and breath like prayer.

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Saturday is

Saturday is:
two times around the pond at the park with a good dog
lime yogurt with raspberries & granola
a sweetly-scented, pink blossoming tree
kaleidoscope of sun filtering through branches
a high school service project and the energy of teenagers
foraging for white pumpkins to put on the front doorstep
pages read, rows knitted, breath breathed
a cake as big as a kitchen wall
(Big Cake by Michele Kingery, 48"x"48 acrylic on canvas)

Friday, October 19, 2012


Maybe we treasure fall so deeply because it has a fleeting nature, each day rendering such palpable change. Leaves of orange and gold turning russet before drifting to the ground. Puffs of breath visible at dawn, evening arriving earlier and earlier. Wistfulness. There are five acorns on my windowsill, picked up on a morning walk, reminding me of our family and how we've loved and grown and are branching out. I made a pumpkin pie on Wednesday and filled a glass jar with bright little mellocreme pumpkins, sister to candy corn. There's an owl in the trees these nights, the starry sky shrouded in mystery. Autumn is a soft, cornsilk-colored shawl, knitted finely as a spider's web. A cloak that wraps itself around you in sensory delight and possibility.

Sunday, October 14, 2012

i say a little prayer

There's a reason why more than 15 million people have watched Aretha Franklin sing 'I Say A Little Prayer' on YouTube. When my minister played the clip a few weeks ago, not only was I filled with the sweetest good memories, but it struck me that I'd be so much better off if I started a prayer the moment I woke up and ended it before drifting off to sleep at night. A stream of consciousness going all day long:  Please bless this day, that particular person and the other people in line at the grocery store. Bless my relationships, my work and the responsibilities I shoulder. Bless my thoughts and intentions so that I am a blessing in the world. Bless the fray, as well as the quiet moments, and be present in all of it. I promise to be present, too. Amen.

Saturday, October 13, 2012


I am so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. - Anne of Green Gables

Thursday, October 11, 2012

guest house

This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. The guests Rumi refers to are moments of awareness, both joyous and sorrowful, that show up in our lives each day like unexpected visitors. Be grateful for whoever comes, he says at the poem's end, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. There's just something peaceful and humane about navigating through the day like that. Tonight our home is literally a guest house because my sister-in-law and nephew are coming in on a late plane and will stay with us until morning. I've had the nicest time getting ready for them, making the house sparkle and adding some simple touches: a pumpkin and pale orange mums by the kitchen door . . . a tea I think Jane might like for breakfast and hoping we'll have time to linger over a cup . . . peanut butter kiss cookies for Stewart . . . thick towels, crisp linens, a gingery candle. It feels welcoming and cozy. Like a guest house should.