when the call comes . . .
Actea Racemose or Cimicifuga Rasemosa, also known as Black Cohosh, Squaroot, and Snakeroot is a bitter and cooling perennial herb whose roots are known for their effects on 'women's issues' and the female reproductive system. I first heard of it as part of a labor tincture in Susun Weed's Wise Woman Herbal for the Childbearing... Continue Reading →
Glorious goldenrod rises Filling the bed where Asparagus speared through the ground In spring On other cool mornings
Salt. It has been around for a long, long time, with evidence of its use dating back as far as 6500 B.C. The British evaporated salt by boiling seawater from salt springs in small clay pots over open fires during the Iron Age. Salt was used as money by the many ancient cultures, including the... Continue Reading →
We walk on fire Though hidden from our eyes It churns and bubbles Within a crusty crucible Though hidden from our eyes Beneath our feet it rumbles Within a crusty crucible Hot molten lava Beneath our feet it rumbles We sense it stirring in our belly Hot molten lava The ember at our core We... Continue Reading →
Good fortune today Buffalo perches on clouds Traveling the world
In the name of all that is joyous to the heart, Gladdening to the eye, and is kindling to the belly, In the name of all that stokes courage, Fuels passion, and promotes dreaming, Even though we may get lost By the stars in the cosmos we find our way, Returning from deep inky realms... Continue Reading →
Last night’s brussel sprouts Filled me with gases Then I became a hot air balloon Rising up through dusty webs toward stars Who blinked at my sudden appearance. At first I drifted Gripped by astonishment holding my hair in a too tight embrace Until euphoria settled in; I plucked stars with my bare hands by... Continue Reading →
Autumn’s full of flair, Shaking out her crimson hair, Fancy, she sipped tumblers filled With sunlight that in summer spilled, And now she beams while letting go Ablaze before the fall.
The woodpecker way, Needle nosing to uncover what’s hidden, Not for the sake of idle nosy-ness But to get through layers Where necessary nourishment lives, One feeding the other, In the movement a transference Of information, Though let’s call them spores or a fungal frolic Dancing to a drilling drum beat The woodpecker way.