Summer Journal: This Bright Stillness
The valley wakes in song.
Cicadas, hummingbirds, dew-laced grass. A breath, a breeze. A moment.
This reflection is about letting go of clocks and stories—
and stepping into the luminous stillness beneath it all.
No coming. No going. No loss.
Only this sunlit sea. Only now.
Summer Journal: Thicket
My daughter has returned home.
A new husband. Two quiet cats.
We find ourselves together in a season of transition—
between continents, between careers, between life and death.
This reflection is about catbirds, tangled margins, and the wild grace of transition.
Where the stable gives way to the shifting. Where nothing endures, and everything grows.
We are all dwellers of the thicket—
becoming, dissolving, blooming again.
Summer Journal: Career
I’ve spent my life planning.
Careers. Companies. Calorie counts. Futures I may never see.
This piece is about the joy of the game—
and the quiet wisdom that comes when you realize the sun is setting on the field.
Play hard. Play well.
Then step off into starlight, laughter, and mosquitoes.
Summer Journal: Softness
This morning arrived wrapped in the rare softness that only exists between seasons.
Not quite spring. Not yet summer. Just this:
Fox kits in the bamboo. Violets in the grass.
Air like a rose petal against your cheek.
This reflection is about new life, quiet light, and the gentle power of a world waking up.