The Saltwater Recollections

Letters from the shore

Sea soaked & never still

After a tough few days of teething and miscommunication, we took a much needed evening walk on the beach. 

The low tide created perfect shallow pools of water for Harper to “bish bish” in. 

The pulsing water created perfect ripples in the sand–the way a barren desert may look from a birds eye few. 

I was able to stare at the sand and the water, pulling and pushing each other for more than a few seconds, & I began to get lost in the details of glistening light and textured shadow. My heart felt so big jusy starring into the endless ebb and flow. 

The sun was getting lower and lower as six oclock came. The air became cool and my sea soaked boy wanted only more of the ocean.

It reminds me of my childhood love of water. The fish in me that sent me swimming in my grandparents green swimming pool, or spend entire days, until dusk swimming in the ocean.

Theres an energy that moves through the water–

Ageless, limitless,

Never still.


Evening walk 

  Rays of gold greeted us on our evening walk. The wind almost scared us away, but we pushed through it and got to meet four ducklings. We sat and watched them dip their beaks in the water while floating in the rough waters. I told you never to feed them, that they need to find food that is good to their bellies. That was before a little girl showed up with a bag of white bread. She sat next to us, gleefully tossing big chunks into the water. You were probably a bit confused after that. One day you’ll understand why we don’t feed the ducks, and also, why we don’t eat white bread.   

 I watched your facial expressions as the ducks dove for the bread. You must think we live in such contradiction, asking you not to feed the ducks, but in the next breath making garbage and and other waste. 

But know this: I want you to have many evening strolls under golden rays. I am treading lighter day by day. So you have a piece of earth similar to mine. 

Sweetest goodbyes

When you were born I couldn’t imagine you as a small child. But here you are. The daring human who challenges me daily to be more patient, playful, kind and aware of the giving life we both have received. Your ability to play through life is poem in itself. You cry and in the next moment laugh because you are so purely authentic and capable of being alive without emotional baggage. 

I wish I could preserve you, child. I fear as the days and weeks pass you may become more like me. Afraid, closed off, and  temperamental. You are still none of these things and for that reason I smile when I could scream. I hold you and kiss you when my primitive body begs to hide. Sweetest goodbyes will come, but today you are here, and I am your student of love.

Within that, there is a peace and acceptance for myself. Mothering is not a 9-5. But neither is any mans life. Realizing the power of being alive is wanting more hours in the day. Because in existing, we can’t imagine the void. 

I can only see your face, and in it I see an eternity of love. 


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.



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