Yes. It Is A Glorious Morn!

He flies to see. The sun rise above the trees.

Puffed to keep warm. Waiting to sing his 

glorious song. I should be facing the other way,

so I can watch the sunrise, today. Yet here I face,

this little bird. Watch as he waits patiently for the morn to unfold.

I truly feel blessed to share this morning with such a lovely being.


Bleak Grey, Winter’s Grace

The sky, solemn in it’s winter grace.

Bleak grey and spitting snow in my face.

Like life I try to see, the beauty of this grey,

bleak sky. Blanketing the world in black and white.

Yet I know somewhere, there is color to be found.

The splash of red from the cardinal, 

the deep green of the evergreen trees,

and the quiet brown of the earth, 

where the snow has not stuck. It’s there,

if I look for it. Color and light can be found. 

Holding space for the bleak grey days

of winter’s grace.


When Was…

When was the last time a conversation was exchanged

with more words than raspberries and giggles. Whispered

sniffles and delighted screams. Oh, I do not know,

but I think it appeared on a dream as summer came to an end.

Dew fell on the grasses and I bent to the wind. Fallen silent as I

contemplated the irony of it all. Escaped my mind to find…

When was the last time I danced with abandon. Not a care in the world.

Oh, yes. Yesterday. When that song came on the radio, and the mop

became a friend and we danced. Between fits of giggles and high

pitched squeals of delight, not mine, but yours…

and well…I stopped some where, between the moments,

longing for when…as the last time did not matter. No. This time, 

right here. Was. All. That. Mattered. Is all that matters.

Living fully in the moment, whatever that may be. ๐Ÿ™ƒ

Love and blessings, ๐Ÿ’• Carrie


The Grocery Store Giggles

Oh, how I could harness a thousand days

to step into one moment where that giggle

echoed across the aisles. Lifting the hearts

of our masked faces. Raising us up in one joyous celebration.

It was the joyous sound of the infant in the cart next to mine

who discovered the pleasurable sound of a crinkling chip bag.

May we all be blessed to find joy in the simplest of pleasures and laughter to fill our hearts.
Love and blessings, ๐Ÿ’• Carrie



The poetry fell all around. Bouncing off the ground.

Rhyming then not rhyming. Flowing then breaking.

Moving through the soul. Poetry is life.  We see.

It’s written in the folds. The narrow spaces.

The open places. The air in between. Poetry.

It’s in the veins of all living things. It’s in the soul

of all. Animate and inanimate. It breaths.

Touch poetry, and it will touch you.