Wordless Wednesday (gone Wordy!)—Scale

HEMINGWAY DAQUIRI | 11 Papa’s favorite. A slightly tart variation on a classic.

the heart all along
poisonious water to drown
soul scorched by star fire

Photography challenges @Dutch goes the Photo

For Guy Ferrari eats visit The Lone Star Taco Bar in Allston, MA. Then head over next door and try Deep Ellum for great gin drinks and Poutine!

Week in Review: B&W

a path of voices
retrieve the warm clues scattered
your time approaches

I have never stayed with one theme on my blog for very long. This is my third consecutive week to post a “Week in Review: B&W”. Progress? Calm in my chaos? If nothing else, a personal record! 🙂

A week in review. A visit to Tower Hills Botanical Garden in West Boylston MA is always a treat. Especially when a greenhouse orchid show helps me resist a chilly Sunday afternoon.

The stack of books pictured are half of what I will be reading during Expressive Arts training. Natalie Rogers, daughter of Carl Rogers, is a big proponent of various art modalities as healer. I plan to spend my remaining time helping others find their voice in paint, dance, words and song.

It feels good to have a purpose. I find we all need to heal generational trauma. Whether abused or the abusers, we must stand still and look towards the sun. A new day dawns. Hope rises.

And ten years blogging? Wow! And it has been 12 years since my brother left earth. This blogging journey will go on until I too am released from gravity. 🕊

Looking ahead. I feel myself changing. It has certainly been a while since I have revamped my image. “Borderline Crossing” will reemerge as something new in the future. Even I will be surprised as to what becomes of this journey.

Thursday Doors (on Saturday)

Jeanne©️

time passes the grail
rusted nails held against me
squeaky hinges fail

This bird and I. The eyes capture all. His advice? Don’t shut the door on seeing. Listen, and the mystery of life will rise up to greet you. There is no greater act than to love.

Norm 2.0 Thursday Doors

First Hint

Copyright free image.
His words appeared
as green shoots
in frozen brown
and I waltzed into
the memory of smell,
a fragrance he once wore
on the crisp autumn air.

The seasoning chimes
and the raw breath released,
he floated away
with me
curving through the cumulus
and running breeze.

I really never know

The vibrations flowing through my body are quite strong. An earthquake shakes my thoughts. The sudden creative rush stops me from moving. I reach to pick up a pen. Stare out the window to watch a storm approach from the west. The mountain encased by fog. Neither of us, pen or mind, can function. We are not heard and the mountain stands still.

Ive been meaning too.

Sometimes life expects us to make confessionals. My list happens to be growing as I recollect events that I am sorry for. For instance, in the midst of my grief, shortly after learning my brother John had taken his life, I stole a plant. A flowering plant at a local grocery store. The reasoning being I had always walked the straight and narrow and while my anger was bubbling up, I lashed out in order to inflict hurt on the world I once loved. I struck back at the heart of existence.

Then again, what belongs to any of us?

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