My first language is English and my first word is tree as I glimpse branches of beeches on my be-wheeled walks…

Yesterday, at about half past two, I fell in wonder with the world

What if we’re playing bingo all wrong…

Sometimes a bad day can become a good day…

Each time I bite into a pear I notice grit and sand…

How about that moment, dark at night when you come out of your house…

Today the sun remembered us…

Perhaps one day I’ll stop my grasp for answers, for solutions, for the security of certainty…

After three phone calls, twenty emails, and two meetings, I found one Barred Owl…

If we plunge deep below the rocks
and the worms to the loamy richness of soil…

Let me find five minutes to sink
into that timeless time when there’s no was and no will—
because only now is.

There’s that momentbetween in and out,between noun and verb,between thought and deed,between note and chord,between fork and mouth,between breeze and rustle,between desk and couch,between tweet and squawk,between tick and tock.There’s that moment, that gap—the void that allows something in.

Driving back from Foodland along the road lined with snow as the darkness begins to seep…

Every morning I step outside…

At the end of a week when the news is heavy and the Zooms are fast…

If you’ve listened to a knife through an onion or ladled soup into a bowl you’ll know there’s music in every kitchen, every day.

Sometimes I think of the bear sleeping in her den deep in the woods…

On my way home, the final stretch is down a dirt trail, today whitened and softened by snow…

There’s a world I know that makes sesame seeds and chili peppers…

Sit long enough, perhaps looking through the window or outside with the sun on your face, and you’ll notice the greatest voice is the one that speaks in silence.

Every time I fill my shiny, clear glass…

I thought of the planet Neptune
and its diamond rain…

I used to think winter was the time for sleeping or for dying…

Instructions for a good day:Look out the windowWatch the birds.Love them. Inspired by the poet Mary Oliver’s words: Instructions for living a life:Pay attention.Be astonished.Tell about it.

It takes the bravery
of a warrior to sit down, close the laptop, bury the phone—sever the cord—and wait in the blankness…

A great chef might have said with his knife in hand, there’s a lot to be learned from the onion…

When I grow up, I want to be a teabag…

Outside in the rounded land, soaped smooth under snow, are the footprints of my brothers…

On my walk I discovered a dead, black mouse lying on the soft, white snow….

Ever wondered how remarkable it is
that at 7am or thereabouts the sun
comes up and fills the world with light?

What would happen if we chose to stop the juggling…

Yesterday afternoon out of the east the wind came to visit…

Isn’t it odd? The hardest thing to find…

When the snow has fallen, I go outside and listen to the silence…

The squirrel, who noticed me inspecting his spaghetti tracks in the snow, said…

I wonder if the snowstorm plots to drop twelve inches, or if it just lets go of a flake, one at a time.

Today I’m stacking bricks of joy so I can build a house…

Mentally, I’m Sears…

This year you are too far away so I’m sending you flowers via the internet…

When an ancient pinecracks and splits, when amountain crumbles to rubble,when a star expands and explodes,the single thing that remainsis discovered only when we’re still,we close our eyes, and breathe.

Down the road is a giant oak…

Above: The woodpecker bangs its head against the white birch…

Maybe hawks and eagles and peregrines are the wisest of creatures because they can leave
the sticky ground and soar.

One cold afternoon I discovered the quickest way to joy…

Wouldn’t it be funny if this—right now—was paradise?

On days like Wednesdays when happiness seems far away, the
sshortest way to get there
is to stop walking.

My mind is itching to climb a mountain…

I remember the heatheron a Yorkshire moortop,partly purple, partly scratchyand very springy when I lay downon it and gazed at the sky andbreathed in the warmth and knewI could lose myself there and sinkinto the peat and be part of it for everand it wouldn’t matter becausealthough I am a person I am alsoit all.

Here I am, sitting inside, with my wood stove and my Lay’s chips…

I love visiting moss on rainy days…