To Rest & Poetry, on the Winter Solstice

In Oregon the Breitenbush river is a color of steel-teal that exists no other place on the earth and this must be partly because of the non-negotiable trees.  It is easy to be grounded and feel at one in your place in a place like this.  It is easy to revere the miracle of dirt:…

Myths and your story. Following your Bliss.

Seven years ago in 2010 before California, before north cubby holes and south green rooms and southwest desert sandstorms, I would stand on the deck waiting tables at the Yacht Club in Ocean Pines, wind blowing (like a million different Pusser’s winds, Naptown holllaaa wudup Chessie and back then) and it blew warm and westerly like Hawaii,…

It happened every place we ever lived. I hated cleaning.

This little hobbit house. I can count on one finger the amount of times I have cleaned it, like scrub cleaned the way I was taught when I was a girl. When I was clean, like sober  clean, almost two years, I had moved into my first place just for me, no roommates.  It was…

If you’re lucky, it slows your flow. On Grace.

The thing you don’t know til you live here is the way palm tree leaves look when they bend in the wind.  The Santa Ana’s.  They’re real.  They come sailing down the canyon with whole lists of lusty springtime wants.  You hear them ranting and can barely breathe.  High white-sun days of Santa Ana wind…

California, you used to make me brave

I am thinking about you, California, you used to make me feel brave. I stopped on a side-road outside Santa Rosa to eat tacos.  There was a sale on RedBull which is all I drank.  It was after a weekend making love with a pot grower on a secret coast hidden by the North trees….

The road map you don’t know you’re following

I left Derynne’s this morning before her or the kids were up.  Everything in my blood was curling towards the sea, and it was painful driving in the direction of the blue balm on the horizon with that only-in-the-morning-is-it-this-color sheen.  Catalina was painted over in pink.  It was hard to leave because that’s where my…

So I drove to San Elijo State Beach

It was grey to the east, and hot, when I got in the car in San Clemente.  Thirty minutes in the used bookstore and I was no closer to settling my discontent then when I had left Laguna.  Plumbing from under my kitchen sink was all over my apartment floor, two workmen in and out…