The Saltwater Recollections

Letters from the shore

My favorite place 

I’ve become fond of the blank space. 

Perhaps I would feel different in sunshine but what the snow offered to me this morning I took with an open heart and it ended up surprising me with freedom to roam my soul.

There is a place of contentment with white. But beyond there, I find so much desire to search these spaces of substance.


Before the sun. Before it unveils what we all wish we could be. Life granting grace, compassion and warmth.  And it melts yesterday and takes winter from us like a long spell. 

The spongy ground sings spring. 



In an effort to grow creatively, I have begun the task of completing one unique and personal project each day.

Some days it is an early morning journal entry. Other times a sketch or water color. Perhaps, a song. Whatever it is, it is mine. My time ticked away pleasurably. A satisfied forward motion.

And already this task has guided me to other positive habits.

And It is teaching me that great things take time.

It is teaching me the value of 15 minutes.

And that each breath is truly what you make it.


How the sun enjoys a storm

The sky was dark, and the clouds kept rolling all over like a pot of boiling water. We sat watching it for a while before I saw a few Black-eyed Susans. It seemed the darker the sky grew, the lighter the flowers became. “This must be how the sun enjoys a storm.” I told you. “It hides, but if you look for it, you might find it somewhere, smiling.”


Alone into dreamy ether


When you’re tired
your eyes grow heavy,
and it is obvious tonight
with the gray twilight ,
your day is done.

So I blow out the light and close the curtain.
Rolling you into my arms,
I find your sleepy eyes
as we rock,
and shush.

Shush and sway, you fall away.
Melting into my bare arms.
Easing you down
curling near you.

Shush, pat,
I stroke your head and whisper “Good night”,
You loosen and
open your arms onto the bed.

But something is not right.

Up and down,
you wave your hand onto the mattress.
Up and down, until
you find mine resting against my bent knees.
There, your small fingers cup my palm.


You loosen and relax.
Letting my hand slip from your gentle grasp,
back onto the bed.

Till all again.
Up and down you wave for me.
Only this time, I come to you.
Taking your warm hand
and holding it tight so you are still and safe,

You may enter now,
Deeper and deeper. Alone into dreamy ether.
I relax my grip
And on your own,
You let go and roll away.

Six months ago, the days were short and cold. A wind a rain storm came during the night and you decided to begin making the transition from womb to world.

From morning to night I labored and met you below strings of Christmas lights that hadn’t yet made their way off our walls.

You curled into my arms and didn’t cry, only starred up into my direction with your blue eyes, just barely open.

As you slept between us, we starred at you. A smile glued onto our faces, we admired the perfection of your tiny body.

You made the sweetest, smallest sounds. I felt my love multiply a thousand times just in that moment.

Since then, you have spread so much joy and love into our tiny family. I am simply in awe of you, and everyday, I still can’t believe you are mine.

Happy half birthday to you! xo


MOTHERHOOD, is not a black velvet robe.

It is a gossamer gown.

It is my body, what I made of, unveiled.

In specific lighting, it glows.

Undressed, before the moon.


And though some days,

that darkened gown dresses me,

it is only a short time before I am nude

and finding my body again.


In mere minutes

I have fallen in love with the wrinkles I once knew.

Finding marks which make me, me.


And maybe, you’ll say, they are there all along.

“A cloak bares beauty too.”

I ask, what value is a gold mine out of view?

Choosing to be the moon


I graduated college and there is one question I am asked more than any other.

“What’s next?”

What do you plan to do now? A degree is good, but what is the value of a degree unused?

I see the point. We need a perceivable reward ($$ or just a little reassurance $$), that when our work is done, we walk away with more than we started with. Why commit to something strenuous and time consuming, like school, if there is no reward, like a salary?

I hear this question and I want to disappear. But I can’t. So instead I wonder what it is I need to say to you to prove that the system has worked favorably for me.

Wondering I go…and I am here. Back to long ago. Back to when I did things, just because.

Because I was curious, interested, it made sense, I was implosive, and I hadn’t done it before…

Because I allowed my emotions to motivate my actions, not my perception of worth and value…

Okay, I’m back. And I have a question for you: What if other living things based their actions on rewards, as we do?

Can you imagine compensating a tree for the work required to bloom? What about the sun for shining, a seed for sprouting, a baby for growing?

Why is it so ridiculous to project these expectations on nature? “Because nature intrinsically acts. Because nature just is. ”

So, what does that make us? If not nature, are we then machine? Are we moving to become cold and hollow atoms, blind to the emotional aspect of our choices only to grow more fixated on the monetary worth and societal praise of our actions?

Tonight the moon is full and rising over a land filled with spring. Under it I confess: I never want to do another thing in my life but be his mom. To learn everyday along side him. I may wear several hats to support him, but always, I will be his teacher. If I don’t, I feel I may wither away and fold into the earth where I came from.

Overlooked, and underrated, it is the only job for me.


I was meant to have you

I was meant to have you.

And I don’t say this profoundly,
or even philosophically.

Anatomically, primitively.
I was meant to have you,

to create and sustain you.

Programmed like a
spring tree in bloom,
I was born to birth you.

The big ones and the small

I’ve been watching the sun for you,

seeing it color the leaves again.

Bushy ones, and small little buds asking

“When can we begin? Are the days still




If the snow were only gray, would the pavement

then look pretty? 

If the noise of tv sang, could

the wars be played on stages?


I am hardly awake, keeping an eye

out for the sunset, Wishing

for the leaves to change.

The big ones that grow for weeks and

we are so like them.


Hardly bigger than a ball of cells, just swimming.

No wiser than my baby laughing

at the light.




It may be the moon.

at the end of the day
I’ve let far too many
precious soul.



Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 29 other followers