I collected dandelions when I was a kid. I called them “baby daisies”.All my dolls had fresh bouquets.
Seven years ago I stood on Church Street in Atlanta and wrote a poem comparing my lover’s kiss to the first bloom of spring.
Pink. All shades of pink including it’s mother, red.
This, during a walk through the botanical gardens at my daughter’s school.
I share a driveway with a preservation society and their side of the property line boasts an award-winning English garden. They invite us to enjoy the grounds at our leisure. I like to visit after close, late in the day when all the visitors have gone home and the bees and wasps are less of a nuisance. This particular day I walked the maze of flowers to get to the old shade tree where it is dark and quiet and… Keep Reading
I was terrified of motherhood. After all, what had I accomplished up ’til the age of 25: left high school early; dropped out of the small college vocational nursing program I let my mother push me into, three months ahead of graduation; transferred to a traditional university where I changed my major three times and flew so far under the radar I made less than 5 friends during undergrad and even less mentor connections; was fired from or quit a… Keep Reading
Sometimes you cross paths with a personality that is as large as the moon. When I took the foto of these flowers, I had no idea how or if I’d use the picture, but it came to me yesterday after looking through my image gallery, I should give this foto to my dear friend Meg. She’s bright, glittery, and always the most interesting person in the room.