Metamorphosis is defined as a change of form, shape, substance, or structure. Transformation. Whether this change is manifested physically or spiritually or both depends on the situation. Spring is a season of metamorphosis, as the earth awakes from its long winter slumber, stretches, and unfurls a carpet of color and wonder, as if by magic. No magic here, though, just the natural order of our environment, the progression of one season giving way to another. And as it is in nature, so it is with people, too.

I’ve always loved Spring, love the feeling of being freshly alive to the beauty unfolding around me, day by day. Small changes at first: new green leaf buds, the sealed heads of tulips and daffodils poking through a carpet of last autumn’s dry leaves, slowly opening, turning saucy faces to the sun. Birdsong greets the morning; the colors are vivid, bright and bold as they are only in Spring’s first flush. My spirit seems to expand and I feel reborn, too, as if my soul had been washed and starched and hung out to dry in the golden, lilac-scented sunshine. Warmer temperatures beckon, inviting me to take my first cup of morning coffee out on the deck, lean on the rail, and just be. The house finches have returned and I smile to see their lovely raspberry color at the feeder. Soon all the colorful birds will be back, the goldfinches, the orioles. Bluebirds. Rose-breasted grosbeaks. Flocks of pelicans wheel high overhead, riding a thermal, their awkward beauty transformed into grace. Squirrels feast on leaf buds and all of nature is bursting with life.

Not all change is lovely, or easy. And when you find yourself in the midst of it you wish you were safely on the other side, looking back, seeing the new growth so painfully wrought. We want sunshine and flowers, not the hard work of making the flowers bloom. The result, rather than the process. That the process is essential to the result is one of those unpalatable truths, without the spoonful of sugar. Nothing remains in stasis–not a plant, bird, or human being. Not even rocks, which erode slowly over time by the softening touch of water. If you doubt the transformative power of water, visit the Grand Canyon, shaped and sculpted by ancient water drops relentlessly working their will on stone.

The butterfly is a symbol of change, of emerging, of becoming. Without the ungainly caterpillar, the cocoon, without dark nights of enclosure, there would be no rebirth into beauty. In our darkest hours, it helps to remember that all things pass, that nothing is forever except eternity. Whatever stage you find yourself in today,the butterfly is the promise. Hold fast to your resolve…and trust that something beautiful is ahead, waiting for you to discover it.

Narcissus, Prev Edits, Reflection Frame, Wide       Vacation Photos I July 2014 421

Burning Moon

I was born under a burning moon,
in a year of leanness and hardship.
My parents hoped for a strong son
but fate handed them me, instead,
a puny, six-pound squalling female child.
My mother barely had enough milk to feed me.
The elders said the burning moon
was a bad portent for a girl.
I would be stubborn, they said, strong-willed,
determined to forge my own path,
unheeding of danger.
No man would want such a woman
for his wife,
they told me as I grew.
They tried to shame me, to shape and twist me,
hammer me into their likeness
with their harsh words.
They failed.
Their criticism made me try harder.
And as I grew, I learned they were wrong.
About everything.
I am strong, resilient. Independent. Fierce, yet gentle.
Kind to others without subservience.
Wise in the ways of the woods,
the fields and streams,
my sisters and brothers the animals,
the wisdom of the wind,
the moon, the sun and stars,
the voices of my guardian spirits.
I love freely,
and am loved in return by my partner,
my equal. As I am his.
We dance together, under the burning moon.
This is what I will teach my children:
Listen to your heart; it always speaks the truth.
Let the burning moon ignite your soul!
Find your own path and walk it
with purpose, strength and honor.
Remember your roots,
respect those who gave you life.
Live joyously, my children!
Dance with abandon under the burning moon!
And know that when the time comes
for your final rest,
your ancestors will walk toward you
with smiling faces and open arms,
welcoming you into eternity.

Burning Moon


However you define it….may you be blessed with an abundance, today and always.

A rare shot of the three siblings together: L to R, Goose (the badass), Baby (the needy one), and Duck, who crossed the Rainbow Bridge 12.3.2015.

3 Kitters, Happiness Poster III, Final Edit      Mostly Tulips, April 11 2012 038

Thanks to all who follow me; I couldn’t do this without you!

I Remember Mama

Thinking of you today, Mom… you always!


Mom, Crop, Ex-22      Lunch! 001 (2)My mother was a quiet woman. She lived her life in the background, overshadowed by dad’s more authoritative personality. Home and family–that was her focus. As spring approaches, I find myself thinking of her. That in itself isn’t unusual; even though she’s gone, mom remains part of my life. I think of her often.

When we were small, mom and my two aunts would bundle us into the car for a trip to the woods to pick wildflowers. We packed a lunch, and jars of water for the plants. Scarves for our heads to keep the ticks away. Digging tools, because Aunt Julie like to transplant wildflowers to her home garden (this was an era before you could purchase bulbs or seeds for almost everything).

I remember the cathedral-like silence of the woods, the smell of damp and exotic growing things. Bloodroot. Dutchman’s Breeches. Anemones, with their delicate pink petals…

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Matthew’s Lilies

Feeling moved to share this again today….


I have been richly blessed with three children, two sons and a daughter, all grown. It’s been a privilege and a pleasure to watch their lives unfold, to see them emerge into the wonderful adults they are today, living lives of meaning and purpose, busy with family and work that speaks to their particular abilities.

Between the two boys, I lost a child. Or thought I did; my doctor disagreed. It was very early in the pregnancy, the baby more of a hope than a reality. Confirmation of my loss came many years after the fact, and in a way I never would have imagined.

In May, several years ago, my daughter had a spiritual reading. Afterwards, she invited me to her house to hear the tape of her session. In the beginning, people who were coming through were acknowledged, as well as their relation to Noelle. At one point…

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