American Robin, Turdus Migratorius. Before you make your mental joke, it means thrush. Thrush on the move.

Rain on a tin roof all night.

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,
and though they are with you, and yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love, but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,
for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward, nor tarries with yesterday.

Kahlil Gibran

This Is It

A parent of one of my clients passed away about a week ago. The family was sadly unprepared for any significant kind of recognition of a life gone by. It's not particularly important to me to have a big fancy celebration of my own passing, especially because I won't be able to attend. But, what is a life worth? I would like to request a service among the trees, a bonfire, some nice words from people I have loved. I would like there to be beer because it will help everyone relax, be sad together, and maybe sing a John Denver song about country roads and West Virginia. I would like someone to say that I was a good mom to my kids and a good wife even though I made lots of piles. I would like there to be beauty present in the midst of sorrow and for everyone to be grateful for being alive.

We

I haven't really dated that much

Expect your every need to be met, expect the answer to every problem, expect abundance on every level, expect to grow spiritually.

- Eileen Caddy

Second Street Birds, Digital Collage

I am grateful for all this snow. Winter is tough enough with all its cold and dreariness, but a big load of snow has always had the capacity to just plain-old make me feel better. The fallow fields that surround our home have surrendered their muddy brown coats in favor of a bright drapery of light. Our persistent gray sky has met its match, for now at least. The silhouettes of trees that perennially catch my eye are made that much more lovely, and clear.

On a morning when the sun breaks through, at first all I can see is the expanse of snow. There is largeness and weight to contend with, but that is not what I came here for.


The last few days I have begun to notice the birds more. The small ones for the most part, like our pair of cardinals, but there is also the arc of a red-tailed hawk as he makes his rounds. I never see him but understand that he is saying, pay attention.

This is what there is.

Every morning, I've got a new chance.