(Dear Women Writers and All, I’ve decided to share a personal correspondence with you today.  Perhaps it will give you a window into where I am this week, where I come from, and how very grateful I am for my... Read More

                  Mythical Creatures you swallow your tails entwined for eternity, the never-endingness that is Iona.   I can no longer tell where Iona stops and I begin. We have become one, forever... Read More

The carpool. If there are gods and goddesses out there who are not overseeing the sheer brilliance of the carpool, I do not know who is. I thank my lucky stars for sharing the daily and weekly rides to activities... Read More

Being a writer is being a window – an interface between inside and out.  On one side, you can see into the other.  Inside, from outside – point of view.  Inside, a fire, cocoa warm bath with whip cream bubbles. ... Read More

A candle flickers in the dimming last light of a summer night and the sweet smell of citronella and lemongrass float on the air as I sit on the back deck, smoking cigarettes with my mom.  Inside, in a puddle... Read More

Duality Times Two I am one who dreams of morphing into at least four of me: One, the me who feathers my nest with memories; feeds my family and friends laughter and love and lots of soup. Two, the me... Read More

  Blank Slate   Iona is a blank slate. So much of her is non-color. Flat gray stone as canvas, backdrop of sage green hills warming to brighter days. I am drawn again to the fire station and its rusty... Read More

  This poem was written as a response to one of the prompts from NaPoWriMo, the celebration of April as National Poetry Month. The prompt was “Georgic”, a poem which could be a simple set of instructions on how to... Read More

How many moments in your life can you recall  a time you were doing practically nothing, when a sharp sense of “I need to remember this” came over you? Perhaps you were ten. You could have been younger.  Some feeling washed over... Read More

The Bread   Our guide in Jerusalem took us into the Muslim Quarter—through the Lions gate—into the Old Walled City. He took 49 pilgrims down a narrow stone street and told us to walk into a bread shop to look and... Read More