This is just to say




This is just to say
I wasted almost every minute
of the last 24 hours.

Dishes languished in the sink.
Purchases went unreturned.
The laundry has over-run the basket.

You see, I downloaded 9 episodes
of Downton Abbey.
And I simply couldn’t stop
until I knew what happened
to Anna and Mr. Bates.

My condolences to the dishes.


This is just to say

I know I should
have gone
to church
this morning.

But instead
I talked an hour
on the phone
with my darling friend.

I chatted
over sushi
and read
and ran.

I’ll dare to say
it helped
my soul more
than a sermon.

I guess this is
where I’m supposed
to say I’m sorry,
but I’m not.


This is just to say

I have found myself
a bit disillusioned,
though just a bit.

But tonight,
I looked up from
the concrete

and saw the pale
yellow light
of a quiet,
setting sun
break through
the clouds
and reflect
off the pavement,
smiling back at itself.

I guess this is
just to say
thank you.
And forgive me.

I know not
how to live
this life
so gracefully.




The Golden Hour

The sun burns fierce across the earth
The grass ignites
The trees shine, ablaze with color.
Midas wipes his hand along the ground
as the shadows lengthen.
The Golden Hour
the hour of anticipation.
The color of freedom.


Quiet world, my soul awakening.

I walked outside yesterday afternoon to find a pure and true chill in the air. Not the cool, untouched air of early morning or the faint September promise of winter to come.

No this was the real thing, the brisk, dense air falling in around me despite the bright sun, touching something holy. Somehow I can’t imagine heaven being anything if isn’t this, if the air isn’t just cold enough to awaken your soul with a start, if the leaves don’t blaze like fire against an ocean blue sky.

I could hear the trees turning in on themselves, slowing down the constant production, resting tiny chloroplasts in tiny cells. There is enough, enough for the winter – the leaves whispering tenderly before falling to the ground, the branches believing in a spring to come. The seasons turn, and the trees trust better than we do.

I climb into the car and the windows come down, because sun roofs were made for days like this. And the music echoes up from my speakers, from the voice of someone speaking my heart back to me – mumford & sons, the lumineers, the avett brothers. They’re sadness all mixed in with hope and joy, inseparable.

And I think I might cry with the beauty of it, with this rain for my desert soul.

It’s New York with my grandparents, feeding apples to the horses behind their house, staring up into those beckoning hills.

And it’s dancing around the front yard in Irving with my family, celebrating those few, infinitesimal flakes of snow. It’s circling, all of us, around a table laden with turkey and broccoli rice casserole, each giving our own thanks, remembering another breathless year.

And it’s family retreats, crowding under a shadowy awning for singing and communion, pressing in to keep each other warm.

Fall is here.

Is there anything more quintessentially fall than nuggy spices like these?

Can you feel it?The shift in the air, the oncoming quiet? The marrow in my bones is settling in, rejoicing, waiting for the winter ahead.