Sunday October 15 @ 1 pm


meet each moment with openness


preservation of all that is wondrous and wild
FALL 2017


September is a time of beginning, of recommitting to all that feeds this life of creative practice. Im happy to offer this opportunity for us to gather in support of each other’s revelations, sparks, musings, desires to dig further and go deeper through the act of writing and making. For many of us creating is a way to journey to the other world within this one. To enter into quiet profundity and permit entry into wild and unknown territory.

I hope you can join me for 5 weeks of deep listening, dreaming and giving way to our innate creative voices. I will be curating a selection of prompts and essays, poetry and interviews as touch points throughout our sessions together.

Can we all meet on Sundays @ 1 pm beginning October 15th.

The cost for the 5 week workshop is $75

I look forward to gathering and stoking the creative fires with you this fall.


To slow down is to be taken into the soul of things.
~ Terry Tempest Williams

18 Islands in the Far North Atlantic

what drew me to the faroe islands was the call from the sea, from the moss and heathery hillsides, a shift needed in the bones – to follow my aquarian nature.

space to invite my heart to spill, dream, rest, to be in this landscape of endings and beginnings. empty into the unknown.

spare yet dramatic hillsides meeting the sea of unknowing skies wild and unpredictable

“Tú alfagra land mítt
Thou, my most beauteous land”


not knowing


These words by Anais Nin accompany my post this afternoon.

“The unknown was my compass. The unknown was my encyclopedia. The unnamed was my science and progress.”

Vulnerability and humility when creating in the field of the unknown are constantly at play.  To give way, entrance into this place of beginning is where most creative work is born…curiosity perhaps draws us in and the pull, tug of something beyond naming.  We follow because we must.  It is the other world within this one.

This morning venturing back from the river,  my walk became the field in which I create.  What called – the dense landscape of green twisted and twined with a rhythm I named confluence…not of two rivers but of walnut and chestnut trees which moved like water.  On the path the memory of those whose footfall has preceeded mine created movement and flow, the wind and birdsong carried on it.  A horse the color of chestnut, his tail whisking flies away.  He stood and did not answer my question.  Live them, moment by moment

Beginning this Fall I hope you will join me for a 5 week writing and making workshop on Practice, Not Knowing, Living Our Questions,  Boundaries and Holding Fast to What Inspires Life, Building Trust, Intention.

I look forward to creating and dreaming with you

Your feedback on dates and times will be helpful

Enjoy the remains of the summer






Inside the Mountain

I remember Nan Shephard in her book, The Living Mountain, speaking about being inside the mountain.  I dont think this was simply a matter of choosing alternate prepositions ie.  in, on, of …it had to do with intimately knowing place and feeling a part of.  In the evenings as the sun slips behind the westernmost slope of the sierras which surround this valley Ive gotten into the habit of watching the swallows and martins gleefully fly above the fields below Lenador.  I sense they are out for a joy ride, the last flight of the day.  Looking out on Mt Lujar with a lemony haze of light still glowing above changing hue and tone with each passing thrum of birds wings.  The mountain appears to be exhaling, as if the entire body of rock, soil, gritty stones, roots, rises and falls the same way my chest does.  This too is being inside the mountain.  It is about relationship and seeing ourselves not as separate but as one integrated whole20031716_1107176599418609_9209145696467531526_n

Scottish hill walker, novelist and poet Nan Shepherd

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Scottish hill walker, novelist and poet Nan Shepherd (1893-1981) believed that we walk not ‘up’ mountains, but ‘into’ them.
“On the mountain,” she wrote, “I am beyond desire. It is not ecstasy… I am not out of myself, but in myself. I am. That is the final grace accorded from the mountain.”
She also believed that we’d be better to abandon the notion of the summit as the goal, and to instead focus on what she called the “total mountain” — the hope just to be in its company, to sleep high, wander, explore, pry into its hidden corners, to, as she put it, become “a peerer into nooks and crannies.”
Nan taught English literature at Aberdeen College of Education and lived in the same house in Cults for 87 years. In the 1940s Nan wrote the nonfiction book “The Living Mountain” — an 80-page ode to Scotland’s Cairngorms — though it wasn’t published until 1977. It really is a beautiful book, with wonderful observations like, “Light in Scotland has a quality I have not met elsewhere. It is luminous without being fierce, penetrating to immense with an effortless intensity.”
Nan is finally being recognized for her writing. Since 2016 she’s been the face of the Royal Bank of Scotland £5 note.