Ocean

I did warn you, right? On Thursday, here, on Ocean , I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel. There are no quirky ideas festering, no time...

I always complete work on my first class of the day before I even leave the farmhouse.   The final task before scooting off is to prin...

A cool morning, a Rosie ride, a pause to admire and to breathe in, breathe in, so deeply, no yoga necessary, deeply, the beautiful early aut...

Just tell them you can't help it, you’re in the middle of harvest! – a comment from Ed, as I groan about a pile of tasks and too few h...

Breakfast.  Porch. It's cool outside, but so very lovely. Every flower that still blooms is special. Every lily is beloved. ...

Sometimes I think I buy into the text too much. Of a movie, of a storyline, of a yoga class – I know it is what it is and yet I let myself g...

Ed is on the couch snoring lightly. We’re both wiped. Isis made no fewer than five back and forths last night and after the last one, eve...

A hint: henceforth, the shortest posts will be (for the next fourteen weeks) on Thursdays. You want good writing? Not tonight, dear. Not any...

You don’t even know that you’re doing it: shoulder humped, chin lowered. You’re slouching. So, is this a bad thing?  Hold on ...