The pages

of the old storybook

(you know the one, with its gilded cover depicting

the never-changing silvery palace

set against the sunset

I long to travel:
Wanderlust tugs at my soul.

Maine screams my name,
The ocean calls for its siren far away.

Salem calls me,
Whispering tales of young girls lost to time.

There is a place where the day ends

before the night begins

where the sky bleeds red

and the sun fish flies

with a golden fin on its head 

and a joyous look in its eyes 

One very nice afternoon I went on a walk through the swampy wet woods to see the very pretty and soothing river flow on my way there I met this very cute and nice rabbit she said her name was Synthia, Synthia had walked with me to the river to wat

I have walked over the bridge

And seen the river that flows,

I have walked through the blue flags

And seen only shadows of frost.

The towering no longer stoop

It was dawn in the forest. The sun was just waking up, yawning and blinking her dew-soaked eyelashes in a sky painted with perfect, watery brushstrokes of yellow, orange, and lavender interspersed with wispy blush-colored clouds.

How to love in a world so full of sadness

I don't know yet the answer to this question

All I know is All I have been taught.

Stay connected to the people

who make you laugh without even trying

January loves April,  

her silken white dress with its icy tint of blue sinking into  

April’s lime green skirt, buds and baby leaves rupturing its stitches, 

We've built the beautiful places 

through disaster and heartbreak  

and luck and romance. 

From the roots up, we've rocked the rocks,   

and moved the Earth. 

It’s hard to know

If spring is really here

New England is one of those places

Where frost lines the ground

But by noon it’s 50 and sunny

I’ve always said 

I didn’t have many friends. But I had them.

We ran as fast as we could through the woods, we knew where we were going, even though we were paying no attention to the direction.