Walking to the Lake on a Late Autumn Afternoon —

Amaya and Oriahn Ruah

“When a bird sings
when dewed branches tilt sunlight into eyes
when curtains are soaked with light
when mirrors drown in shadows,
take your day to the shore, my child.
Put out the words that fired your waking,
scatter them on the sand like seeds,
then with your feet gently tap them,
and let the bright waves
receive your meaning.”

– Khaled Mattawa, from ‘Bedtime Reading for the Unborn Child’

Nada se pierde con vivir, tenemos
todo el tiempo del tiempo por delante
para ser el vacío que somos en el fondo.

– Enrique Lihn



Photography by Amaya Engleking

Green kelp sweeping
Fingers of the supernal hand
Brother keeping
Corialis stir of shoreland
Sea leak seeping
We become sun on salt and sand Read More

New Refrain

Painting by Megan Triantafillou

Mass with mastitis
mother by marriage says we’ll go to see Mother Mary but I know you know better
drinking in the sacrament of breath…

…Symposium of spirits concentrate there,
a kiss to sustain the learning world when by day and night
it hardens,
angels martyred
only to meet the gathered light and song and with new refrain go right back IN
TO bodies as
shining epistles altering helices and species Read More

The Chosen Ones

Painting by Nick Andrew

Gripping wind’s reins
We weren’t supposed to love the wildness or poverty
or make a home of spruce boughs and the raw provisions of the wilderness
Set on eagle’s wings
We were supposed to taste manna as survival food, juniper berries, rich in bitters and ascorbate
Our dependence on your creation should have been a passing lesson
as we fled one oppressor to the next Read More

Quaking Aspen

“Aspens in late winter” by Michael J. Lynch


I didn’t resolve to kiss Christ on the cheek until my 28th year. If years were days it would be one full moon cycle that I needed to live out every phase in order to trust in God, as I was at enmity with even the idea of there being one. My own lofty ideals of Man and self had to first fall.

S l o w l y.

Yet, waxing or waning, shown full or fully shadowed, the source of love and life was always there and now, I shudder in the warm tenderness. I am in awe. Read More


My youngest on the November hike. Photography by Amaya Engleking

As I sat on the holiday parade float with the choral group and sang “Angels From the Realms of Glory” my own little three year old curly blonde angel, who had been tossing out candy, decided she couldn’t hold in her pee a moment longer. So there we were: me holding her off the side of the moving vehicle as she relieved herself onto the street. Nothing like a good mooning from a lit-up, garlanded caroling parade float that says, “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!” Read More