Gone Out

There are about six weeks left in this year, which is just nuts. Thanksgiving is next week, and yesterday we got our first real snow. A layer of white knitted the tree branches into delicate lace, while thick layers of white velvet draped on prickling pines. People complained. It was a great day.

This first snow filled me with a feeling of ridiculous hope. There was just something about the fact that something so beautiful can come from wind and cold, and that if that can happen, anything can.

These past few months, I’ve had a good season of writing. But I’ve decided I want to finish out the year being more thoughtful, more contemplative, than productive. I want the space to really notice the beauty and joy of these last few weeks, and to enjoy them without stress, without hurry.

There are some projects I’d like the space to to work on without an immediate need to share. And I want to get back in the habit of producing good work which I share because I love it, not producing just to share.

All this to say, I’m taking a blogging break for the rest of the year. It’s a little retreat, a self-conference. Have a lovely rest of 2018, as we look forward to the new year with joy.




Hide away, hide away

in the green holly tree,

while the ice and the wind

whip you raw.


Hide away, hide away,

build your nest in the leaves,

make a pocket of home

in the frost


Hide away, hide away,

don’t you fly from the cold.

Sing your songs while the snow

plays the drums.


Hide away, hide away,

for the season grows old,

and the snowdrops will melt,

sprouting up.




The air is raw

and smells of ice and smoke.

The land is cleared of distraction,

everything unhidden,

everything laid bare.

Above is the lightest turquoise stone,

very smooth,

and the sunset

casts periwinkle shadows

on the white reposing drifts

that fall and collect

with a sound louder than silence.

The flame flickers cold,

and night comes early

onto the bony black fingers

that scrape against the turquoise.

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