ÉTUDE: Fall Poetry

Like the leaves, falling from the trees to reveal bare branches, the root of poetry is rather the same. It’s about finding substance beneath the surface. 

PAPER MOON, VELVET SKY: A Sunday Story Session

The film plays on. A coquettish wind teases the branches of a sententious sycamore tree, convincing it to abandon the cover of its leaves. Vines climb through brick walls, daisies push through in cracks in the sidewalk. My own thoughts begin to nudge their way through the crowd, moving to the front of the room.


The final tip of the heavy sun brings the sky down with it, imploding upon itself in the intimacy of its own Armageddon. Legend has it, if one is quiet enough, they can hear the sun sizzle as it sinks beneath the horizon. Yet the sun is believed to be silent, for the human condition is partial to hearing with the ear, rather than listening with the soul.


The future rises before us, dawn breaking upon a dream. We are so close we can feel the first gentle rays of a golden sun caress our skin. In the distance, music begins to play. The first note of a symphony, a single, open “A”, echoing from across the horizon in a gentle adagio.

SPRING BOOK LIST: 15 Recommended Reads

Reading, whether it be for the intentional acquisition of knowledge or simply for pleasure, opens our minds to windows to the past, glimpses of possible futures, fantasies, solutions and new ways of thought. Here are fifteen of my favorite books in a number of genres.

THE TASTE OF FLIGHT: A Metamorphosis

“For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return.” By embracing the now, we are able to recognize that each experience is a skillfully placed building block in our own metamorphosis.

IL DOLCE FAR NIENTE: The Sweetness of Doing Nothing

I’d sooner pull the sun from the horizon and push the moon from the sky than wait for dawn to break. Rather risk the lick of flames from standing too close to the hearth, than wait for the fire to warm the room. Rather pour my emotions uninhibitedly from my heart like spilled ink across a page than wait for the carefully constructed moment to confess them.


Ernest Hemingway once said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

While I don’t have a typewriter quite yet, I do carry a moleskine notebook in my purse and jot down verses whenever the mood strikes. Here’s some verses written over the last few weeks.

MORNING GRATITUDES: Marveling at Your Unique ‘Now’

Waking up early on a weekend, and realizing there are few more hours to sleep in. Waking up early on a weekend, and driving on an open road for a spontaneous adventure. Banana pancakes with walnuts and a drizzle of honey. Watching the sun rise upon the ocean at dawn. Airplane flights into a city at night, gazing out the cabin window and seeing the cityscape illuminated below.