Winter has fled by, a deep rivulet, subterranean. So much dreaming with so many characters, spirits, ghosts, friends, allies, beloveds.
These past months I have deliberately scaled back my working hours (on the bodywork front, see: www.biopoetics.com) and hunkered down at home in my writing loft, the nest built by my partner Andrew in the little house here off the high road to Taos, New Mexico.
The fire has been warming the adobe walls. Books have come out of boxes and off of shelves, at last. Late nights and early mornings of writing. Naps by the river in the still warm winter sun. The voices of daughters and many stories written and shared.
Thank you to everyone who has reached out these past months, for your loving kindness and support. With spring almost here, what might happen next?