Dear truth, How ominous, This single tenet that greets the overwhelmed world. The minor chords that fade into a bitter sweetness. Look, there is so much more that can be said. We marvel at words, we sell them
Dear magic, There is a carpet I have which came from my grandfather’s house. It’s mostly red with green and orange flowers, and looks like a kind of relic from Victorian times. This kind of carpet used to be quite common but
Dear legs, This girl, who was really a mermaid, only no one could tell on account of the legs, ran so fast that she went right off the edge of the world. Swoosh. Just like that. First she fell with her legs
Dear courage, Change is in the air. I feel it. I feel it looming and circling and gathering strength. I can feel it creaking across my heart late at night. Resisting is only prolonging the frustration of the situation I’m in at the
Dear first love, hunger, and future me, I heard, That a breeze is caused by the differences in air pressure on some mountain peak a hundred miles away. In the soft evening breeze a raven flew by the cabin, swooped over the
Dear younger me, The things which I wish to say cannot be said, In part because it has been said, (and often), before, And we know this was as true the first as the second time I said it. It cannot become
Dear rest, It's so peaceful here. It's quiet and uncomplicated and serene. I love it. Rosy and fresh and cool. Like a good book. Like a song. A bowl of really sweet cherries. Yeah, that's it. Cherries, like cherries. Postcard: Acrylic paint, shadow play, plus a collaged copy of
Dear books, We don’t all sing like typewriters. Some of us deliver a text which is pondered in the heart. I think there are silences louder than words.
Dear Intuition, The voices made me do it! Love, V Last night I had the sudden urge to read pages from a journal that I wrote 11 years ago. Aside from the questionable prose style, and the pretentious critique of Jung, and the efforts to
Dear morning, I don’t know how to explain it. You burn into my memory like a memory is supposed to: Six am waking up. Grandma bringing in a cup of hot tea. My skates on a towel in the corner of the