Author: Contributor

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Dear Shadow by Denise Braun

Little hands nestled over a fuzzy blanket. Pinky, finger, finger, finger…thumb. Every nook and fuzzy groove in that coverlet was security. And in my six-year-old heart, feeling safe was concrete. Night light? Check. Clicker flashlight? Check. Bobo the stuffed elephant? Check.

“Goodnight sweetie. Kisses…”

Mom blew 3 kisses from the bedroom door to the top of my bunk tucked underneath the window.

“Muah.” A kiss back to mom.

Peeking out the blinds of my room window, the stars were sprinkled across the Prussian Blue sky and eased my discomfort. It was always at night I felt the most vulnerable.

Alone. Scared. So the moon, coming out of hiding from behind a gray blob of cloud cover, made me smile.

“Oh Mr. Moon….you are so beautiful.”

I sang a spontaneous song about a little girl who ran across the surface of the happy planet, wearing ballet shoes. Moon beams dashing through her hair. A constellation of stars shining down on top of her head. Releve, grand jete! Smile.

Deep sigh.

A shadow on the wall. Another.

Shadow.

Shadow.

Moon Beam.

My head flopped on the flattened feather pillow.

With my active imagination fully engaged, every shadow on the wall opposite my stuffed unicorn became a story. As a way to avoid fear of the dark, and with focused vision, I would watch the grey spots move and dance. The moon, a lighted back-drop for the show, accompanied the performers.

Expansion. Constriction. Expansion. Constriction. My pupils looked for light.

“I see a doll, a cat, a bat…”

Turning over under the safety blanket.

“And a rhino, a teacup, a spoon.”

Thoughts and images made a soup of wide-awake fascination in my tired mind.

Shhhhhhh. Go to sleep little girl.

Shhhhhhh. Dream.

Shhhhhhh. Imagine sunbeams and water puddles.

Wide yawwwwwn.

Fluttering eyelids.

“Dear shadow….” I said aloud. My legs could feel the little grains of dirt under the sheets at the foot of my bed. Leftover residue from a day of play and spontaneous beach-castle-joy.

“I was wondering…could you show me some magic? My mom read me a story about a little girl who fell down a rabbit hole. And suddenly everything had changed. I think her name was….Uhm….”

Big yawn.

“But it was full of magic. I believe in magic. I just saw some today, shadows. Because I was standing outside under the Mimosa tree. You know which one I mean? With all the red bottle brush blooms? That’s what my sister calls em. And all the red sprigs started falling down on top of my head. They smelled flowery and grassy.” Giggles. Smile.

Eyes fluttering.

“I’m not afraid shadows. I can only see Mr. Moon beams when you’re here.”

Shhhhhhh. So hard to stay awake.

Shhhhhhh. You are divine light and shadows beautiful child.

Shhhhhhh. Quiet watching. Moon beams.

Now my head facing towards the night sky in that window. A star shoots across the framed glass.

“Ohhhhh wowwwwwww. So bright!”

And if by magic, I counted as many twinkles as the brightest star could muster. Before every muscle gave in.
Pinky, finger, finger, finger, thumb. Released. Breath.

Shadow.

Shadow.

Shadow.

Moon Beam.

Sleep.

Love.

About the Author: Denise Braun

Denise lives on the Central Coast of California with her husband, three daughters, 11 chickens, 4 cats and one dog. Her passions include writing, creating artwork, and supporting others in a soulful therapeutic modality she created called Artful Hypnosis.

When Denise isn’t enjoying life in the spaces in between, she organizes retreats for women, teaches paint classes around the U.S., and organizes her ever-growing shoe collection.

Her favorite things include freshly outta-the-oven banana bread, dragonfly-fly by’s in her backyard, and pumpkin-scented sache’s in her sock drawer. True story.

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Studio Tour: Erica Goss and a Room of Her Own

Before I moved to this house, my office was a five-by-five space between the living room and the kitchen. I could open the refrigerator and grab a snack without getting up from my chair, but I had no privacy. The result was a lack of concentration, frustration, and a drop in productivity. However, I completed my book Night Court in that tiny office, so I guess I did get some work done there.

My current office is a room in the western part of my new home. I like that, because I have always loved both the word “west” and the direction “west.” It might have something to do with the spectacular smog-streaked sunsets I observed when I was a child in Southern California during the 1960s. The air is cleaner now, but I’ll never forget watching the red sun sinking into the Pacific on summer evenings. That sun appears in many of the drawings I made as a child.

I’m deeply grateful to have this space where I can work, this room with green walls and a quirky ceiling that goes in every direction. It has a door. It is private. Even though I have not occupied it for very long, it already feels like a sacred space. Virginia Woolf would be proud of it.

I do most of my work at the desk in the above photograph, but I also have an “analog” space with my grandmother’s 1932 Royal typewriter and a windup clock.

A triangle of light takes all afternoon to travel to the corner of the wall above the desk before it disappears. It reminds me of when Lily Briscoe says, “A light here requires a shadow there” in Woolf’s novel To the Lighthouse. She’s talking about making a painting; a good poem is also a balance of light and dark.

I have a space on top of a bookshelf where I’ve collected a few mementos. The stuffed cat and teddy bear were my children’s, the Kalimba came from The African Store in Eugene, Oregon, the red car is from Dresden, Germany, and the book is a handmade art book I bought in California. I can’t remember where I got the Troll Doll. When I was a child, my aunt had a bunch of them and they fascinated me.

People often ask me where I get my ideas. Many begin as notes, doodles and sketches in journals. I started visual journaling about fifteen years ago – adding drawings, watercolor, and collage to the written word.

Here’s a journal page featuring a quote from Thomas Paine, some interesting postal stamps, some collaged images, and a note that might have made its way into a poem.

While pondering the meaning of life, Lily Briscoe concluded, “the great revelation perhaps never came. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark.” That’s what I want to discover, as the triangle of light travels across the wall in my green room. Like Lily, I try to “make of the moment something permanent.”

About the Author: Erica Goss

Erica Goss is a poet and freelance writer. She served as Poet Laureate of Los Gatos, CA from 2013-2016. She is the author of Night Court, winner of the 2016 Lyrebird Award, Wild Place and Vibrant Words: Ideas and Inspirations for Poets. Recent work appears in Lake Effect, Atticus Review, Contrary, Eclectica, The Red Wheelbarrow, Main Street Rag, Pearl, Rattle, Wild Violet, and Comstock Review, among others. She is co-founder of Media Poetry Studio, a poetry-and-film camp for teen girls. Please visit her at www.ericagoss.com and connect with her on Facebook, Linked In, and Vimeo.

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Sunday Sensations: An Open Letter to Chester Bennington

On July 20th, the frontman for the band Linkin Park, Chester Bennington committed suicide.  As someone who felt so very personally connected to his music, I wanted to dedicate this month’s column to him. While Bennington had always been open about his struggles with addiction and depression, it was a shock to everyone (including myself). 

Dear Chester,

I know you can’t really read this letter now. Nor do I harbor the delusion that if this letter would have been written sooner and read it that it would have saved you. I grieve for your loss in such a way that I need to express the impact you made on my life. I hope it may help someone else.

I remember in vivid detail the first time I contemplated suicide when I was in high school. One day I was sitting in the bathroom, looking at a bottle of bleach under the sink, and the thought occurred to me. I didn’t have a terrible childhood. My parents loved me, I had a strong support system and I was extremely happy. I didn’t know where the thought had come from and I tried to move on from it.

I knew about depression as a young adult, but never thought it applied to me. Again, I had so much going for me. College was some of the best times of my life, but I was depressed. There was a weight to things that I couldn’t explain. Some days everything felt so hard. Even if I had reasons to be happy, I wasn’t. It wasn’t until I wrote a paper for a grad school class that it occured to me that I might be depressed. I can’t even remember the focus of the paper, but I remember my professor wrote in the margin of it, “do you think you may be depressed?”

My life took a crazy nose dive after that grad school paper moment. My relationship with my family was terrible, I lost a boyfriend, and everything felt terrible. Sorrow closed in all around me. I nearly lost my job because I couldn’t function. I couldn’t tell you the number the times I thought of suicide. I felt so alone. So lost. At the darkest moment, I found Linkin Park’s music. Suddenly, there was a voice and words to describe exactly how I felt. I was no longer alone. Your music was an oasis when everything felt so hard.

Depression lies, but music heals. I firmly believe that God gave mankind music because it has such a powerful effect on us. The right song, the right time can mean the difference between life and death. There have been so many times where music has given me words when I felt like I had no voice. I quickly put you on the list of my all-time favorite singers. Linkin Park was not the kind of music I’d normally listen to, but I listened over and over again.

While your music wasn’t the only thing that pulled me out of my depression, it helped more than I could ever say. Your pain eased mine.

Over 12 years later and Linkin Park became a back burner thought. I had no idea there was a new album. I was wrapped up in my own life. When news came of your suicide I cried. I had no idea the struggles you had gone through. Tender strings were severed so very early for you. Very few things can repair that damage.

I still have some bouts with depression. Days where staying in bed is the only thing I can do. Other days where the only feeling I can feel is not caring. I don’t know your pain, but I know how pain works. It’s not easy.

One of those new songs, “One More Light” has the following lyrics:

Who cares if one more light goes out?
In a sky of a million stars,
It flickers, flickers.
Who cares when someone’s time runs out,
If a moment is all we are?
We’re quicker, quicker.
Who cares if one more light goes out?
Well I do.

I cared. You helped me and I cared. I’m sorry your light went out. I hope you know it meant something while it was burning.

About the author: Tabitha Grace Challis

Tabitha Grace ChallisTabitha is a social media strategist, writer, blogger, and professional geek. Among her published works are the children’s books Jack the Kitten is Very Brave and Machu the Cat is Very Hungry, both published under the name Tabitha Grace Smith. A California girl (always and forever) she now lives in Maryland with her husband, son, and a collection of cats, dogs, and chickens. Find out more about her on her Amazon author page or follow her on Twitter: @Tabz.

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Blue Heron’s Dance by Julie Terrill

I carry your ashes
to the banks of the river
this warm, windless Southern evening.
Eyes closed, arms and heart wide open,
we dance and spin below the full moon
as we did the night we wed
a mere thirty-six moons before.
Tonight it is the heavy, humid air
that clings to me in tight embrace.
Blue Heron joins our dance,
wing tips nearly skimming
the water’s surface
and pulls me from my reverie.
There is peaceful, haunting beauty
to be found within
the circling steps of grief’s dance.

About the Author: Julie Terrill

julieterrill_bio

Julie Terrill is a photographer and writer with a passion for travel. For ten years, she’s told stories of empowerment through the lens of her camera in an array of unique landscapes, environments, and projects – from a shelter for children rescued from trafficking in Thailand to Faces of Courage, complimentary portrait sessions she offers to cancer patients in her community. She is a photographer and facilitator at Beautiful You and Soul Restoration retreats.

Connect with her at: JMTerrillImages.com

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Hello Dear Friend by Fabrice Poussin

Entry

Going back West had been a strong desire for quite some time. Many others make that part of the United States their summer destination as well. People from a great number of countries from around the world. Some of the National Parks are their aim, fewer are the National Monuments, and fewer yet those whose access is limited by unpaved roads. It is an experience I had in the last century, and now I can see why I may repeat it next year.

As I show in a photograph entitled “Entry,” one has to find his way in, but more than that has to find a way to let it all in, to give it the recognition it is due, to be ready to commune with some of the origins of all things earthly.

Those locales are rugged places to say the least, dangerous in some instances, and certainly risky when one is not careful as to where he walks, runs, or drives. But as “Charm” reminds us, this is not about the small details which may arise a sense of fear in us, it is about the overall image we can get and that is one which is overwhelmingly endearing.

Settling in of course would be a challenge, a great one at that, for those who first decided to live in those unforgiving territories. One may feel a sense of isolation as we see in “Alone,” yet in our day and age there is a great sense of comfort to be felt in the safety that nature offers.

But those are not just tourist attractions, not just backgrounds against which one may snap a few selfies, they are home to the many who, by choice, and sometimes not, have found that there is no other place for them. In “Hoping,” we are reminded that the rains do come in those desert lands, and that life does sprout from the most unlikely soils.

Traveling through the harshest lands in America, and ultimately reaching the higher elevations, one has to be surprised at the “Fertility,” which prevails. Lush plains and meadows where the bears may mingle with the deer and occasionally cattle, make it clear that if life struggles at times, it is in fact always victorious in close proximity to the most difficult climates.

The Earth is a “Monument” in itself, but what I find most amazing is those drastically different scenes coexisting within just a few miles from each other. One may pan the horizon with a gaze and find a completely opposite panorama, either a mountain range, or a perfectly flat plain, and let’s not forget the deepest canyons. The American West is the place for those earthly symbols, monuments to the making of a world.

Finally, as a visitor and lover of the scenery, the experience would not be complete without feeling the moment when night comes, or when daylight returns. These are the themes of “To The Night,” and “Warmth.” The darkness brings many mysteries with it, as unseen lives take over the land, but it also covers the sites in a welcome freshness so all things may rest, and find a new energy for the next day.

‘Warmth” is carried over the mountain tops, into the valleys, accompanied by the sweet dew of morning, and the life of the viewer is too renewed.

To have walked on the paths depicted in these images is to have become part of the scenery, to have one’s memories inscribed in them forever, and to be able to remember them for the emotions they brought about when I was there. No other humans were present in any of the photographs; it was a perfect time of solitude, and it was the ideal moment to commune with the place that sustains us, to look up to the stars, and be humbled by this limitless universe. We owe it our existence, and we must, from time to time, make a pilgrimage to at least say hello to this dearest friend.

About the Author & Photographer: Fabrice Poussin

Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and dozens of other magazines.

His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review and more than 250 other publications.

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A Portrait of a Writer’s Studio by Diana Raab

Empty coffee-imbued mugs,
remnants of tea leaves
in blue Chinese tea pots,

a dimly lit purple lamp,
stacks of crinkled purple file folders
busting with shreds of wisdom,

dusty antique typewriters interspersed
with writing manuals and memoirs
once alphabetical, photos of my loved ones,

both here and gone, faded artistry of daughters
now on their own, a reading chair
beside a purple orchid crowded by

a crooked pile of books laden with stickers
on their best pages, purple pens
and yellow highlighters

clinging as bookmarks, pads of notes,
boxes of dated journals,
tins of obsolete manuscripts

flipped open for ideas,
scented creativity candles,
a sunburst mirror with an image

the computer’s back screen
paned doors facing the outside
water fountain shared with hummingbirds

and rabbits nibbling at fallen rose petals.
An Oriental end table harbors
a pen collection beside a floor heater

to dry the tears which pour from me
as my gel pen negotiates its flow.

About the Author: Diana Raab

Diana Raab, PhD, is an award-winning author, poet, blogger and speaker and author of eight books. She speaks on writing for healing and transformation. Her book, Writing for Bliss: A Seven-Step Plan for Telling Your Story and Transforming Your Life, is due out in September 2017 by Loving Healing Press and is currently available for pre-order on Amazon. More at dianaraab.com.

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At-Home Weekend Retreat

As a teacher, August always signals the end of summer and the start of a new academic year.

While I relish the relaxed routine of June and July, I am always ready to return to the familiar fall schedule. However, I know once Labor Day is passed, life becomes a blur of activity. It is nice to have a smooth transition from one season to the next.

A spa weekend is the perfect prescription. It offers an opportunity to rejuvenate the mind, energize the body, and restore the soul.

Some may enjoy a retreat to the mountains or lake, surrounding themselves with nature. Others may prefer the pampering of a full body massage and facial. No matter the location, the idea is to escape home, with its myriad distractions and to-do lists, in order to focus on self.

If money is an issue, however, or if you are a homebody like me, travel is not necessary to enjoy this same kind of personal renewal. All that’s needed is a bit of solitude and some advanced planning.

The first step is to set a date. I initially wanted to plan an entire weekend getaway, but 48-hours is a long time to escape life’s demands. So instead, I chose a day when I knew my husband would be out-of-town, and my calendar empty: Tuesday, July 25.

To honor this commitment, I wrote the appointment in my schedule. We need to take our personal time as seriously as we take other relationships.

Next, I blocked out time to brainstorm and plan the retreat. The purpose of this day is to do what energizes, relaxes, and renews our spirit. I began to list activities that would help me achieve this goal. My options included:

  • Journal: While I try to write a bit every day, I would enjoy setting aside a full hour or two to delve more deeply into personal analysis and reflection.
  • Scrapbook: I love the idea of making family scrapbooks, but I never make the time. Scrapbooking for me is practical (I’m finally doing something with all those loose photos), creative (matching colored paper to the photos for eye-catching pages), and purposeful (writing the story behind the photo).
  • Read: Writers are readers, and to that end, I do strive to read at least thirty minutes a day – usually right before bed. However, I long to escape into a novel for an entire afternoon.
  • Take a Walk: A day off does not necessarily translate to a sedentary lifestyle (although it wasn’t too long ago that I would have argued otherwise). Actually, any kind of movement can energize our body and engage our creativity. I’m not advocating a cardiovascular walk or the routine walking of the dog, but rather a long, leisurely stroll to enjoy and connect with nature. I am fortunate to live in an area with a beautiful walking trail around the reservoir – or the town’s Arboretum is filled with possibilities.
  • Visit the Museum: The Nelson-Atkins, my local museum, just recently installed a new gallery of Impressionist art – my favorite! The museum is an easy thirty-minute drive from home. The atrium restaurant, in the style of a Venetian palace, is ideal for a light lunch before visiting the artwork.
  • At-Home Spa Experience: I rarely take the time to pamper myself. Why is that?! It doesn’t take long and it does wonders for my peace of mind and self-acceptance. I could luxuriate in a warm bubble bath, exfoliate my skin with a facial mask, and beautify my nails with a manicure.
  • Massage: I adore a good massage, and my husband is more than willing to accommodate. But I’m also learning that Yoga can achieve the same results. Gentle stretching exercises, coupled with deep intentional breathing, is quickly becoming my go-to relaxation technique.
  • Evening Movie: I rarely go to the movies. And quite frankly, I enjoy the buttered popcorn more than the film. But watching a favorite oldie in the comfort of my own home, munching my decadent movie snack, would be an ideal way to end the day.

Some of these options may not be of interest to you, which is fine. But that is why you need to set aside a planning period before the retreat. Discover what you enjoy doing and then make time to do it. Shopping and a nice lunch out? Quilting or cross-stitching? Painting or lettering? Working on a project that has lain dormant far too long? Whatever it may be, honor your creative side.

Once I made the list of possible activities, I next needed to decide on meals. Since this retreat is to rest and rejuvenate, I wanted to be sure to have all ingredients in-house ahead of time. I considered three full meals plus snacks.

I decided breakfast would remain my typical coffee and yogurt. I like it, and there’s no need to modify routine for the sake of change.

A trip to Costco helped me solidify the other meals. Spinach chicken wrap with fresh fruit for lunch, and Rotisserie chicken with grilled vegetables for dinner. A bag of pre-popped popcorn would be the movie munchies and a small container of gelato for an impromptu treat. Perfect.

Next, I took inventory of any other items I might need. For example, I wanted a new color nail polish, and I needed a clay mask for my facial. I made sure to have enough notebooks and pens for journaling (really… is there such a thing as enough?) and plenty of interesting reading material. I spent a few minutes reviewing Netflix to find suitable movie options.

Another consideration was ambiance. I wanted my common-place home to be something more special. I created a new playlist of inspirational songs I enjoy. I placed scented candles throughout the house. I thought of buying a fresh bouquet of flowers to brighten up the dining room table. Things were coming together.

Advanced preparation was almost complete. Now I just needed to develop an itinerary. While I wanted to leave some room for spontaneity, I knew I had a lot to accomplish. A loose plan would help me manage my time and avoid disappointment.

For some, the perfect retreat may begin with a late morning wake up call, followed by lounging in pajamas until noon. However, I enjoy my typical morning routine and decided to stick to it. I got up at 6:00am, sipped my morning coffee while reviewing correspondence, completed my daily exercises, and took the basset for his walk. I was back home by 9:00 and ready to start my special day.

I planned to journal a bit first and then transition into some scrapbook time. This would bring me to the noon hour when I would take a break and enjoy the chicken wrap and fresh fruit.

I decided to save the museum excursion for another day, and instead, I planned to spend the afternoon at Chez Totoro spa and boutique. I would begin with a luxurious bubble bath and perhaps indulge in a glass of Chardonnay. Next, I would give myself a facial using the clay mask, and then end the session with a mani/pedi.

It would now be mid-afternoon. The perfect time to escape into a good book for a couple of hours before I would begin prepping the vegetables to roast for dinner.

After the evening meal, I might stroll through the neighborhood before returning home, snuggling on the couch with the basset, a good movie, and that buttery popcorn.

That was the plan.

In reality, family obligations prevented me from devoting the entire day to these pursuits. But that’s okay.

Because I had the plan in place, I could easily scrapbook for an hour in the afternoon, and polish my nails the next evening. I used the facial mask one morning after my shower. Popcorn and a movie became date night.

And that luxurious bubble bath? I plan to indulge next week before teacher in-service meetings begin.

About the Author: Molly Totoro

Molly Totoro is a Connecticut Yankee currently residing in the Midwest with her husband and trusty basset. While Molly retired from full-time teaching in 2014 to pursue her writing dreams, she continues to work with students to achieve their writing potential. Molly recently published her first book, Journaling Toward Wholeness: A 28-Day Plan to Develop a Journaling Practice with the hope of inspiring others to experience the health benefits of writing their inner thoughts.

Connect with Molly at her blog, My Cozy Book Nook and on social media: FaceBook – Twitter – Instagram– Pinterest

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Summer Vacation and Restoration by Anna Oginsky

It’s summer vacation here at my house and with its impending start in June came dreams of my children and I enjoying long, lazy days reading, writing, and making art— preferably on a beach or in the forest—nourishing our bodies with an unending supply of fruit and herb infused waters, fresh berries, and concoctions made with heirloom tomatoes picked from the vine.

I seem to begin running this film in my imagination around Memorial Day each year, one where it is summertime and the living is easy, as the old song goes. The reality is it is summertime and the living is living. Sometimes it is easy and sometimes it seems impossible. I have always been one to think in extremes. I exaggerate. It is a tendency that runs through my blood and I can most likely attribute it to my relatives who were active in community theatre outside the home and all-around general theatrics everywhere else.

Consequently, when I think about what it means to feel refreshed or be restored, I go right to the mountain top, the beach, or the forest.

What I’m noticing is to limit myself to the possibility of only feeling restored under the dreamiest circumstances and to overlook the possibilities for restoration in my daily life means I will rarely find the restoration my body, mind, and spirit needs. What I’m learning, not only about restoration, but also about every significant area of my life, is that what is most refreshing and where I experience the most peace, ease, joy is somewhere between the mundane and the mountaintop.

My most enriching life encounters happen in that space between the dream and the reality.

What this means is that a small shift of my perception can open the space for restoration, not only on vacation but also throughout the course of my day. I’m also learning that at this point in my life, a vacation simply isn’t enough to sustain the feeling of being restored. It is essential that I practice restoration daily. I’m not suggesting this is easy, but with the amount of information I am exposed to and the pace at which my life moves (which is the same for most everyone I know), a week away on vacation just isn’t enough and so restorative time has become just as pertinent, if not more pertinent, as eating well and moving our bodies—our beacons of hope for health and well-being.

My fifteen-year-old son just told me about an opinion he recently read that said in some ways our bodies die each night when we go to sleep and are born anew when we wake in the morning. I told him that I loved the idea of waking up to a new life each day. He asked me what I thought about the idea of dying each night. I find it refreshing to imagine a nightly death of sorts where my body naturally sheds what is no longer serving me, whether that be cells or ideas or worries that I carried through the day. I appreciate my body’s need for restoration and continuously marvel at the ways it shows me that it can restore itself—if I let it.

Contrary to what I formerly believed, opportunities to restore are all around me.

There are many practices like making art, writing, walking, meditation, and yoga that I can use to refresh and restore my body, mind, and spirit. I have really enjoyed these practices for a long time. What I’m seeing more clearly now is that restoration isn’t always about the place or the practice. Restoration is truly possible anywhere, anytime when I take a deep breath, let my mind off the hook, and allow my body to do its thing. What a relief!

About the Author: Anna Oginsky

annbioAnna Oginsky is the founder of Heart Connected, LLC, a small Michigan-based workshop and retreat business that creates opportunities for guests to tune in to their hearts and connect with the truth, wisdom, and power held there. Her work is inspired by connections made between spirituality, creativity, and community. Anna’s first book, My New Friend, Grief, came as a result of years of learning to tune in to her own heart after the sudden loss of her father. In addition to writing, Anna uses healing tools like yoga, meditation, and making art in her offerings and in her own personal practice. She lives in Brighton, Michigan with her husband, their three children, and Johnny, the big yellow dog. Connect with her on her website; Twitter; Facebook; or Instagram.

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The Lavender Farm by Bella Cirovic

We made no travel plans for the summer, opting instead to take day trips to little known destinations up to an hour from our home that boasted promises of magic and beauty.

A google search for such places helped produce our list of sights to see this season. It’s how we came upon the lavender farm, an oasis of purple tucked in the hills near the shoreline of our fine state.

What a wondrous day we had walking amongst all of those sweet smelling lavender bushes, sipping lavender lemonade, and eating coffee cake drizzled with purple flowers and honey.

This day was a treat for our senses not to mention balm for our hearts.

So I ask you, if you were to search for a magical place near your home, what do you think you will find? What’s stopping you from going there?

About the Author: Bella Cirovic

Bella Cirovic BioBella Cirovic is a photographer and writer who lives with her husband and daughter in the suburbs outside of NYC. She writes on the subjects of self care, body love and nourishment, crystals, essential oils, and family life. Catch up with Bella at her blog: She Told Stories

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Matted People by Richard King Perkins II

The indiscernible language
of plants

settles into mist and shadow
near a spread of matted people.

Grass and sadder grains
have induced

a sort of physical anarchy
for reasons

spelled out
across the sunset sky.

The complexity of flora
is intentional

suspending us in moments
just like this

offering a green nest,
the music of petals and leaves

a unity of vision
at the moment of conception.

The trees applaud in crescendo
without a hint of wind.

About the Author: Richard King Perkins II

Richard King Perkins II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He lives in Crystal Lake, IL, USA with his wife, Vickie and daughter, Sage. He is a three-time Pushcart, Best of the Net and Best of the Web nominee whose work has appeared in more than a thousand publications.