part one.

“Summer Suffer
heat the rain

The trick or freedom
that brings pain

In July, the wind still whispers
Secrets keeping, hidden, shiver

laced up love
on every ray
warmed by yellow
golden bay

A sea of white, green and heat
miserable, happiness scorching feet

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June bugs hum and I am still

     words painted on my windowsill

My whimsy, watercolor, brain at will

     Inhale. Exhale. I’ve got my fill

I’ve had a hard time figuring out what to write about of late. But whenever someone else tells me they don’t know or don’t have anything to write about I always tell them to write about just that. Being less than inspired. So I guess I’d be some sort of hypocrite if I didn’t do the same.
I think about sometimes how we think in shortcuts. How if someone were to listen to our thoughts they would probably have no idea what we were talking about. Because the things that relate in your own head as you think jump from one subject to another faster than the words that reminded you of the thing can even come out of my mouth fully, don’t have any reason to relate in my own head. Think about it. Say your’e listening to a song on the radio and it makes you think of a certain other time you were listening to that same song on the radio with a different person. Then that situation makes you think of a different thing and so on. If an outsider was listening in on your thoughts, all the thought jumps your’e doing in those split seconds where you can see what links the two together, the outsider couldn’t even see why you started thinking about last summer (or whatever) to begin with. We think in fast shortcuts. And yes, I think about this when I’m talking to you and responding to what you’re saying. And yes, I am paying attention. It’s just that when you really pay attention to what is in your head you start to realize how reactionary your thoughts are and how incredibly faster they are than what’s around you…for the most part. I hope this all makes sense, I thought of it in about two minutes but it took me 15 to type it all and figure out how to say it. Case & point.

IMG_5595 This is a real moth

We are moving this weekend. Everything is in boxes, or being put in boxes. We pick up our lives and we go. I’t escapes me why, as humans, do that. We gather all these things we don’t need that mean something to us, and then after sitting it in a man made box for a while we pick it up and take it somewhere else. I guess my only profound thought on the subject is that I do not get it. It feels animal and yet only humans would do it. And fish. Fish swim up stream, but they don’t have suitcases.



Part two.

“As full of spirit as the month of May,
and as gorgeous as the sun in Midsummer.”


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My heart is so full
of all the things my life has contained
of sunsets and summer
of woodlands and fall
of dancing and my mother
and every inch of my family tree
of growing taller till my shortest height
My heart is full of music and art
and Virginia and pot pie
of friends and coffee, pride and prejudice, grape juice, and bare-feet

My heart is so painfully




You’re girl is eighteen! I get such joy in filling days with lovely things and on May first my favorite people did that for me so that made me happy. I’ve had to have the conversation with many people that, yes, technically I am an adult now but no I am not a grown up, nor will I ever be one. I’m too short to grow up anyway.
Spring is bringing beginnings and endings as it always does and I am more excited than I am anxious and that is rare. It amazes me that we work so hard just to live the way we want to. As I move from high school to something else, I find that the “something else” likes to torments most people. We can’t seem to be content with simply living and yet we work so hard everyday to simply live. The only way I defy society and get through the something else of living is to know that the world is not all there is and that it doesn’t have to satisfy our human souls.

I’ve often stood in front of a mirror and not recognized my face. I open my eyes wide trying to see myself through them but those blue-green glass like globes hide my spirit well. I am a shell of human existence housing a being of wisp and magnitude. I’ve felt my brain twitch inside my skull waiting for its detachment from my brain and yet not longing for it. Somehow still bound by the fear of losing the shell we call “known” and we deem life. I have felt my soul, and I know it’s there. Have you?

“Life is unpredictable
It changes with the seasons,
Even your coldest winter,
Happens for the best of reasons,
And though it feels eternal,
Like all you’ll ever do is freeze,
I promise spring is coming,
And with it, brand new leaves.”

-Erin Hanson



“Love many things, for therein lies the true strength,
and whosoever loves much performs much,
and can accomplish much,
and what is done in love is done well.”
– Vincent van Gogh

Part I.

There’s this thing that farmers can do where they tie a tree branch back onto a tree and it grows. Sometimes it heals the tree or it adds on a new piece. They can also do it with different kinds of trees, say a pear tree branch onto an apple tree. It’s called grafting. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, metaphorically.
I mean that in the sense that I think we as people do that. We graft ourselves back into situations or into people’s lives to make ourselves feel better about the past. In the name of healing we tie the fallen branches of our trees of life back on. And don’t get me wrong, sometimes it does work and we do heal. We reconcile with family members or friends, or we stop having that uneasy feeling every time we go to a certain place. But other times it does not work. Either the tree or the branch rots and it tends to be more painful than it was before. What I’ve learned from all of this thinking is that maybe I shouldn’t take growing back limbs into my own hands, but if reconciliation lends itself, I’d be happy to do some grafting.


Sing a song of sixpence,
We all want to get paid.
We work our fingers to the bone
Each and every day
And when the spring time cometh,
New hope begins to bloom
That maybe we aren’t only working
For the work to be done soon.

– Spring Time Cometh


All of the pictures in this blog post were taken by Ruth B Photography. She took my senior pictures which I am very happy with. If you get the chance to work with her, good for you, she’s awesome.

light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here

A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That science cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.

It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.

Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:

A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.”

Emily Dickinson


Part two.

I looked for you in the ocean bed
and the silver threads
and the feather-head

I looked in all the dust of the air
and the quietness
but you were not there

In houses and cathedrals, in windows and wells
But nothing I have found can ever seem to tell

me anything of safety
Or rest of weary bones
nothing else can spell with silence

“My darling, you are home.”

– where the heart is



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I think I love bagels as much as I love coffee and that’s saying something.







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I’ve been discovering and learning that home really is where the heart is. It is a state of mind, a person, a feeling. The things or the place that makes you feel safe, and loved, and completely yourself. That’s where home is. But it usually takes being sick for it to know where your home truly lies.


part one.


we come from glory into grace
in an ever-changing face
like rocks with secrets beneath the surface
geodes of a fallen world.

The cold hard surface of the rock is unfeeling and seemingly impenetrable. Wintry hearts turn to rocks sometimes. I’ve been hiking in the mountains in the winter. It is a wonder and horrible thing. But me being tired of walking and bitten by the cold is not the point here. If you’ve ever seen the rock faces in the woods I know you have marveled but what I sometimes forget to marvel at is the way the water, running continuously over, can cut rocks. But depending on the flow the waters does not always break rock, it shapes it into something smooth and refined. Our hearts are refined in such ways. Either broken in two or refined to be smooth, but each time by the same forces.

“For I am about to do something new.
See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make pathways through the wilderness.
I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.”

Isaiah 43:19

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Happy New Year, darlings. In a sea of resolutions and goals and broken promises, where are you? People joke about breaking their resolutions or trying so hard to stick with them. But we bend and we break and we become like willow limbs soaked in winter rain as we bend the rules we set for ourselves in weakness of wanting to change but being afraid to at the same time. So here’s a little tip or two: find out where you are. Take a breath and a step back and look at yourself. In Genesis 3:9 God asks Adam and Eve “where are you?” even though he already knows, and in Genesis 4:9 He asks Cain “where is your brother?” even though He already knows but there is still a reason for this. Sometimes we don’t know where WE are (or what we’re doing). How can we possibly set realistic goals for a new year if we don’t have a realistic view of our own lives. Isaiah 58:9 says “Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help and we will say: Here I am.
So before you let out a frustrated suspiration because of your own rules you break, or the goals you fail to achieve, take an inventory of yourself. Say thank you to all the wonderful things about yourself, and only then focus on the things you’d like to improve. Because no matter how many times you fail, new beginnings will become evident if you look.



“In the snowy white of winter
All uncleanliness made bare
I was broken in a tied up way
Like taped up pieces on a chandelier”

– january


“If a tree falls in the forest
Does it make a sound?
In December, barren earth
you can feel it
In the ground.”


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We give what we get. Like sponges we soak up other people’s energy and when squeezed all that we’ve been saving up overflows. “Out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks.” December brings a season of cold and a season of giving. Rather you like it or not the world around you will be full force, head first, all in to this season. But what we sometimes fail to remember is that our actions speak. When all we care about is being with family or getting/giving gifts for our own name sake, then as many times as we say them–the polite, cordial things undoubtedly become worthless. We pay for interactions in emotional currency and those expenses can sometimes weigh more heavily on us than the financial ones.
When do you feel loved? Is it the one time in December when you see that person you haven’t seen all year and you exchange “pleasantries”? or is it when you find mercy in a friend who knows you?…We are all filled with what we receive so why not be the giver. Grace and mercy will follow you all the days of your life if that is what you give to others. Let your life be worth a thousand words simply because it graced the earth with the presence of a picture of love, and give what you wish to receive. Define yourself and your own standard of beauty by the actions you commit and the poor in spirit who you paint into your life picture. Everyone needs grace.


by me

Beauty is as beauty does
In the month of December
For actions speak louder than words
Like the sound of, alone, fallen timber

We sing the song of giving
And we look for our name sake
Under the whispers of heaven
What hands will beauty make

Stories told in lines
On hands and on pages
Are worth a thousand pictures
Of what kindness, mercy graces.


“Now the seasons are closing their files
on each of us, the heavy drawers
full of certificates rolling back
into the tree trunks, a few old papers
flocking away. Someone we loved
has fallen from our thoughts,
making a little, glittering splash
like a bicycle pushed by a breeze.
Otherwise, not much has happened;
we fell in love again, finding
that one red feather on the wind.”
–   Ted Kooser,   Year’s End

As this year is drawing to a close we are drawn to a pause and reflect. But I ask you, as a friend and as one who knows the pain of it, not to dwell on the past or on your mistakes. Let yourself move forward and learn from the things that presented themselves to you this past year. None of us deserve to be chained by a false reality of what is behind.
This next year may be a little different for me blog wise. I was not sure for a while if I would continue passed this year. But I hope you all will continue this journey with me, though I won’t tell you what I have planned…thank you all for reading.


W  I  N  T  E  R


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“But there is always a November space after the leaves have fallen when she felt it was almost indecent to intrude on the woods…for their glory terrestrial had departed and their glory celestial of spirit and purity and whiteness had not yet come upon them.”

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I am smitten with autumn rain. Something about it, the smell, the chill. It’s all mischievous and wondrous, and calm. I can’t believe it is already November. This year has gone by so quickly. I think writing about each monthly transition has also made everything move a bit faster…It’s strange how as we grow all we do is wait for Friday’s, or that one break from our everyday schedule. A mental break from the reality of simply living. It becomes a phenomenon to live in the moment and something we have to strive for where as when we were very young all we did was live, and that seemed like a daily eternity. Now we like to take naps and escape from the lives we’ve built around, and for ourselves. A child like faith or wide-eyed wonder is what we long for. We speak of something that used to come so naturally to us as the treasure worth seeking. And maybe it is, but i think we all have more of that in us than we believe. I have always been afraid of growing up. I still am, but less so because I’ve realized and still strive for a reality where changing and “maturing'” doesn’t mean growing up. I don’t believe in being wise beyond your years, because wisdom does not come with age but simply with understanding, and sometimes the most understanding person I’ve known is my six-year-old brother. Don’t be afraid of your age, you are always you, and that is enough. What a blessing it is to live through the changing of the seasons and of the tides.


The Picture of November

But the picture of November is a burning of the past
A cleaning out the gutters before winters come to pass
A swift and barren glory that is gone by in a flash
trees no longer making noise, save the creaking of their backs
A words that whispers, sunshine
Of the coil in my heart
Waiting for a whiteness, clean
An edge of season’s start

We all long for a future where our beauty is forewarned
But with melancholy branches, the forest looks forlorn
Just as our bare hearts search for clothing so November seeks her dress
The white covering over darkness, where October had cut her tress
But on every ring inside her etched, the beauty of a soul
That is, that without a story, none of us is whole.


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Just one more thing to prove that art is emotion. How else would we have sculptures such as this? Yes we marvel at the work of the artists hands, but truly what we are so captivated by is the emotion portrayed in such works. Somehow art brings cold stone to life not by carving it into an image but by chipping it away to reveal raw emotion. Who are we but cold stones ourselves until we learn how to be molded, and to mold and create something through our emotion? Isaiah 64:8 says “Yet, O Lord, you are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.” If we are created in the image of a creator, then our hands and our hearts have that power as well. So go make some art. Don’t tell me you can’t do it because I know that the very breath in your lungs was given to you to use not to just leave in your lungs. sing, speak, write, make. And in the changing of the seasons feel the beauty of the earth and know that though the tides change, the moon is always there, the same. Don’t be afraid.


In the dreamy silence
Of the afternoon, a
Cloth of gold is woven
Over wood and prairie;
And the jaybird, newly
Fallen from the heaven,
Scatters cordial greetings,
And the air is filled with
Scarlet leaves, that, dropping,
Rise again, as ever,
With a useless sigh for
Rest—and it is Autumn

– Alexander Posey


If life and art danced together
their silhouette would be the outline of a
Watercolor Woman


 “October is about trees revealing
colors they’ve hidden all year.

People have an October as well.”

I’ve hidden inside books and walls and my closet. If you came up the stares, there I was, behind the screen, or the curtain, unseen. If you haven’t guessed this is hide and seek. My house has always been big to fit my big family. When I was younger, I would walk though my house and when I heard someone coming I would find a good place to hide. I’d do that all afternoon sometimes just running and hiding, out of anyone’s reach. In the position of power because I knew where they were and they didn’t know where I was. That’s war tactic for a ten year old, but in a big family that’s kind of how you learn to think, with mock war tactics that is.
Now that I’m older, seven years later, and many tears past ten, I think that I never really stopped playing that game. Less in the physical sense and more in a mental one. We have all played that game, hiding who we are from those around us. Because we are safe if
“I can see you but you can’t see me.” A distance. An invisible arms length stretched out in “friendship” as if to whisper “don’t get too close, don’t get too close.” What have we all whispered into our hiding paces where our fall colors reside? Who are you that they might WANT to see? And what is it worth anyway, what if they don’t like it? Words are worth a thousand pictures, but the true picture of you is worth more than any lie you could tell yourself about yourself. The soul is not to be mocked for its beauty and florescence. I’m not asking you to take down all your walls or bare your soul naked for the world, but rather, take one small October. A vacation from your hiding place. let the chlorophyll escape from some leaves and breathe out. You don’t have to hold your breath when you’re not playing hide and seek.

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All the sunflowers with their heads turned down…
goodbye summer, without a frown
Turn to leaves caressing the ground
Welcome autumn and her golden crown

I’ve looked and longed among the trees
For a season that would feel as free
As dreary autumn, so my soul to be
made the same by binding me

Bound to earth by a brown and red tether
I’ll always live for colder weather
And when the wind rustled leaves like feathers
I feel that i have known ME better

by Glory

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I’m so glad its finally INKtober an I get to be all creative with it! Here are my first two ink drawings this month. Art is so wonderfully versatile.


“October is change
An unveiling
A removing of her head covering
and letting her hair down
A blustery undressing of
nature’s excess
A shaking off of old
A laying bare time
A time to reflect and decide
how we want to clothe ourselves when the time comes
for rebirth.”

— L


If life and art danced together
their silhouette would be the outline of a
Watercolor Woman


“We know that in September,
we will wander the warm winds of
summer’s wreckage.
We will welcome summer’s ghost.”

In a beginning, there must be, an end. I have little things like this that run though my head, things that I keep coming back to. Little poe-trees dropping the same leaves on my head over and over again.

When I first wrote that opening line it was about the end of winter and the beginning of growth, spring, and summer. And now that I reiterate the statement it is time to address the end of summer and the beginning of a new season. There are so many little “all done’s” and “start fresh” in a year that I hadn’t noticed until I wrote about them. I also never noticed how much we need them. For example: if we didn’t have the ending and beginnings of weeks I think we would all go crazy not to mention the daily end and new beginning we get. Even if it seems pessimistic sometimes the fact that a day will end is the only thing that will get us through it. So as I start this new season of life, new school year which is an ending in itself (of high school anyway), I will be thankful for endings and for beginnings. Seizing opportunities even as they storm my castle and take down my flags. I’ll breathe, in the air of coming autumn, and spit out summer’s ghost’s but thank them for their memories. It all comes around again, so I won’t mourn losses or mix up “goodbye’s” with “see you later’s”. Our world is just ever-beating, evergreen, effervescent light of change and shifting plates. Brush the silky spider threads of this beginning, and let yourself sweep away the whispers of summer’s “until we meet again…”

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September is breathing

by Glory

My emotions are shot
My head is spinning
I’m not sure when
This became a beginning

Because usually that’s how I
feel at an end
But really there’s something
starting again

It’s closer to autumn
Each day that goes by
And farther from heaven
But touching the sky

My fingers are broken
September’s cold lips
Set slightly open
and catching on tips

Pressed to the door
And commonly frightened
Peace in uncertainty
Our ties
That bind
are tightened

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.
Not as the world gives, give I unto you.
Let not your heart be troubled, do not be afraid.”
John 14:27
Fear is such a prevalent thing and it makes us into people we are not. Fear can make you freeze or it can make you lash out in ways that are not worth their consequences. I’ve heard that courage is not the absence of fear, but rather it is bravery when fear is staring you in the face. This is all coming from a girl who is still afraid of the dark and can’t watch even the previews of a horror movie. Still there are so many scary things happening in the world but the only way to face them is to choose to find courage and love in fear, to find beauty and grace in pain, and to find beginnings in an end. Be a faithful friend, and don’t let fear cripple your kindness. Jesus didn’t come to save the righteous.

“The lines stitched into highways,
the never-ending seams;
on roads that are less traveled,
dividing you and me.

I wish I could unravel
the fabric in-between,
and tear away the distance,
to bring you close to me.”

— 4000 Miles by Lang Leav

If life and art danced together
their silhouette would be the outline of a
Watercolor Woman







“August brings into sharp focus
and to a furious boil, everything I’ve been listening to
in the late spring and summer”


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Everything feels like its ending, but also like everything has just begun. Uncharacteristically, I wish summer was three months longer. And yet, here we are. August.
All my flaws and all my happiness seemed to be weaved together. I’ve never been my happiest when I felt perfect. I’ve been my happiest when I felt flawed and loved and true to myself. No, this is not a speech about beauty, or about how everyone is beautiful and everyone is perfect. Frankly, I don’t believe that at all. I believe that beauty and perfection or rather our versions of those things, are much less important than we make them out to be. You see the one thing that we all have in common is not that we are beautiful or even that we are all human, but that we all have emotion. To my little Taurus mind, beauty is something I see everywhere and I see it in pain. I’ve never thought my friends were more beautiful than when they cried on my shoulder. That might sound sadistic but I promise you it’s not. The pain is not what is beautiful but rather the raw emotion that manifests itself in those moments. That paper-thin venire of false face is brushed away and all that’s there is you. simple, sad, Beautiful. So don’t be afraid of it, reality is valuable.

fire, lungs, August

by Glory

August rushes
Hot wind sun
life’s now ending
Just begun

Two visions blurring
into one
yellow summer
coming undone.

We long for water
rain to come
but into focus
there’s only one

Thing that I
can seem to sea,
drowning feels like
fire to me.

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I’ve been carrying around this art journal since January and I finally filled the darn thing up. People change, that’s what they say, but I think id rather say I’m growing than I’m changing. When someone says “you’ve changed…” they don’t usually mean that complimentary. Even if it is true that all people “change” and yes we need to all realize that, I’d still like to being growing instead. (maybe it’s because I’m afraid of change) But what I’ve been told, and like to believe, is that we are all growing. And sometimes when we don’t feel like we are moving forward, we are simply growing roots. So…And Still I Grow.

I question not if thrushes sing,

If roses load the air;

Beyond my heart I need not reach

When all is summer there.

– John Vance Cheney

We don’t have to think about if the sun or moon will rise, but that doesn’t mean we take for granted the beauty of the sky.


If life and art danced together
their silhouette would be the outline of a Watercolor Woman