evolution, an

i was going through old photos.

i was shocked to see this from exactly 365 days ago.

i feel like i am so young.

lacking experience.

here i am, stay at home mom in padded suburbia.

busted over and over. old clouds roll over again--- those worries, my land--- thunder crashing over birdsong and buzzing bees, this mind of mine. i still cannot fathom the heart break. i try to rationalize it. but some things were meant to be felt, and not thought.

it's really hard to believe all that's happened within the space of four seasons,
this cycle around the sun has been transformative.
like fire
\wind

all sorts of erosion and reshaping.

reconstruction, remodeling.
back to basics.
what's at your core, baby?

busting old down
making room for new

i cling cling cling to the old, weeping--
do you know how hard it is to unlearn old ideas?

busted my heart open, like a glittering geode.


joy fills the cracks

sorrow is savored
i am
more alive
more
tired
more
challenged
more pushed more satisfied
more
capable

but maybe we do this anyway? whenever there's change?

forgetting, and then remembering with astonishment, some of the beauty i've called into my life--

a pack of friends i have known for numerous lifetimes, reunited.

kids who turn compost and build bikes
and can vegetables.

so much childhood karma relived with this duo.

"and then, on our bike ride, we discuss mckenna. the matrix. control and reality. the conversation is always interesting, always pushing our known."

three of the four living in the same old neighborhood, bitty bike rides away from dog piles in bed and lame ghost story telling all morning.

 these friendships are not without their challenges, we're mortal, after all....

these friends and i have built the hard and soft infrastructure for life as an organic farmer--

the fate of cattail hollow is still undecided but i feel grateful for what we learned already with backbreaking and fingerbiting work--

work that feels so wholesome and nourishing...

still plotting his escape ala christopher mccandless.

saucin' with the anarchy twins.

still one of my favorite days ever: laying irrigation. we're going to miss you, ryan.

the possibilities that come with striking out on one's own for the very first time

diggin' the machismo and constant rush of kitchen life. play play play rush rush rush, i get paid for this!
working for a restaurant that seats up to 700 people, so you know i'm slinging that propane torch, getting the creme brulee just right...

i am so thankful for you, tyler, keeping me safe and warm and loved, until this wilding was ready to leave the nest. it's scary out here sometimes. you've always encouraged me to grow.

i never felt comfortable with the idea of being taken care of. partnership, yes. community, yes. independence. and goddess, i am still so very taken care of by the people who love me. so blessed.


here i am today. rough faced from 6 months of being uncovered in the sun, working in the field. loved it.
lines from worry, new to me.\
a new kind of tiredness.
a deeper sense of self.
emanating self from essence.
from source.
busted/dirty/free/knowing/questioning

mukloumne river

halloween with daddy

my little twin

i like this picture because he looks like he's having fun with me. he's really laughing at the adorableness of his baby walking up to doors and trick or treating. 

horizons as broad as the universe.
never know what i'll dream up next.
open to everything,
whatever the heart says
goes.

becoming infused with divine light...

trusting trusting trusting the process


polly compost

an afternoon and evening at my childhood home

i spent many of my years barefoot, running atop pine needle carpets. the rains have started. it's thanksgiving dinner, celebrated weeks early. i come a few hours before dinner to do my laundry, and to wander the trails, keeping my eyes out for the familiar fungi of this time of year.

 little brothers, not so little

hailstones, little brown mushrooms, and thunder. these are the novembers of my childhood.

running from the thunder

the canyon after the storm rolls out

the manzanita and pine hills are as comfortable to me as my mother's lap when i was small.

dissipated thunder head.

in his tiny voice: do i look like jengo fett?

inside, the epitome of cozy

exploring shadow, considering everything i have called into my life,
the ways old old dreams come true without even noticing.

divorce is final.
an ode to my marriage is brewing,
the photos can haunt.

the sunrise on the spiritual horizon is bright---
acceptance of self and the recognition of self;
i feel like myself.