April is always a transformative month. Snow hopefully gives way to rain. Brown lawns and branches start to become dotted with green buds and shoots. Azaleas pop with purple blooms and Forsythia shout yellow streaks. Winter gear gets put away, mostly--since it often gets pulled out again at some point before May.

​Being a gardener, I need to hold myself back. Let the leaf litter lie. I suppose that could be some sort of wise, old adage, "Let the leaf litter lie." Sometimes what looks like a pile of leaves is really a mound of miracles all taking place beneath the surface. All sorts of insects are continuing their life cycle unbeknownst to us. Things that look absolutely done for--will start breaking through the surface in a month. It's crazy!!

This April, while it seemed that so much was coming to life around me in the natural world, there were many instances when things felt like they were coming to a close. And, I guess that makes sense. Life is a cycle. Things end and things begin--and, so often, things cannot begin until other things end. I won't go into all the examples of this in history.

For me, The Room to Write, the non-profit I founded 9 years ago, is coming to its end--of sorts. I suppose it's like that pile of leaves in spring and, really, all kinds of things could be coming to life beneath the surface. We just can't see it. The hope is that some of the programs we have brought to the community can live on in some form. 

My favorite event that became an annual highlight, though it took a pause after Covid--as so many things did, is the Young Writers and Illustrators Meet, Greet & Create event that we planned in collaboration with the Boys & Girls Club of Stoneham and Wakefield (now BGC Metro North). It was always so inspiringto give away so many wonderful, locally-written books to kids of all ages--toddlers to teens--and to offer youth an opportunity to meet the author of each book and feel good about liking to read or write or be creative! We hope that event continues into the future as well. 

The writers critique group coordination has already been passed on to Marc Olivere to keep going and I look forward to submitting to that more regularly when I have time to get back to some of my writing projects. The quarterly Writers and Illustrators Meet & Greets aren't likely to live on, but there are two neighboring writers' communities that have programming that can serve a similar purpose: FYACS's Writer's Studio in Melrose & Writers Collaborative Learning Center in Reading. 

Sometimes we just have to let go. We can't control what happens after that, but we can be hopeful. Sometimes things happen differently from our expectations, but that doesn't mean our efforts were wasted. ​Heraclitus, a Greek philosopher, is quoted as saying something along the lines of, “change is the only constant in life.” Ironically, this quote was found as a fragment of a book he wrote that was destroyed. And, it certainly has value and has lived on despite being only a piece of the complete work it was originally presented within. 

For now, The Room to Write's Board of Directors has decided to let the leaf litter lie for the rest of the year and so TRtW will slip into a sort of hibernation to be sure any new life still trying to emerge has a chance to do so. Whatever happens beyond that--I'll always be grateful for the community I found, the lessons I learned and the opportunity to unabashedly advocate for the art of writing!

Sooo . . . this was not the poem I thought I was going to borrow from my collection when I saw "February" and thought Valentine's Day and love--and typed the title "Love is in the air." Though, that does feel even more poetic as I imagine birds in flight.

​I planned to post a poem I wrote about my husband before he was even so much as my boyfriend. But--as life would have it--I clicked on the first poem in my folder: "A Mother's Vigil" and read it. It's a poem I wrote specifically for my first long project, my young adult novel: Lucy Bound in Lyrics. So much love is wrapped up in motherhood. Some is pure and simple. Some, complicated and frustrating. But, all of it originates from the right place, even if that's not always where it seems to end up.

This is a poem that has the ability to make your head hurt trying to sort through the various shades of love, but love refuses to present itself in one, predictable, solid color. As far as mothers go, Robins are some of the most impressive! This poem was inspired by a true story as it played out beyond and framed by my kitchen window in my back yard. A Robin stood vigil over her injured hatchling all day and beyond dusk. I worried about her, as well as her other babies still in the nest in the tree outside our dining room window. 

Love can be so tragic and yet beautiful.
Here's to all the moms.

A Mother’s Vigil
​
Among the twigs and discarded twine
four Tiffany-blue eggs lay, too humble to shine.
Mama bird sits protecting her nest
from the chill of the north, the scorch of the west.
Warming, padding, tending her hatchlings
feeding when hungry, when lonely—she sings.
Each day the necks stretch, they feed and they grow.
Four birds take to flight, but one meets a fierce foe.
Chirping and trembling, knocked from the sky,
Mama tends the fallen while her other babes fly.
Vulnerable, heartbroken—a guard at her post,
Keeping sorry vigil by the bird who needs her most.
While the other birds soar, swooping strong and free
The injured bird lay suffering--
in the dirt 
beneath the tree.

Can I be honest? I hope so. In times of tumult, I am grateful for my faith. I know having a faith at all can be controversial these days, but faith in something far bigger than myself has been a light in my life. Whatever your faith may be, I implore you to cling to or sail toward it when feeling lost at sea.

National politics can be overwhelming. Let's face it, these days--even small-town, local politics can be a bit ruckus. It's hard to have an opinion these days, but I do have one. Take it or leave it. Amid the divisions, don't retreat completely, and conversely, don't get so distracted and consumed by it that you forget the gifts right in front of you. There is always something to be grateful for, and there are so many tangible ways to help your immediate community, family or friends.

In early November, as I contemplated how to meaningfully focus my efforts and attention in the coming years, I came across this passage in my handy dandy daily devotional: Our Daily Bread. The reading is included below. I decided I needed to start simply and tend to those within reach rather than get too wrapped up in so much that seems beyond my own personal control. No matter who or where we are, ask: How can we serve the community we're in?

How I do love summer. I never used to. It was always too hot and felt too long. Strange. Maybe.
But, then I discovered a beach umbrella and the relief of swimming and the simplicity in sundresses. 
Simplicity. I really appreciate the simple things these days.
Summer is simple. Less clothes. Less school. Less sports. Less scheduled. Less.

But, it's onto Fall. Autumn! The only season I know that has two names and no matter how much I've taken a shine to summer over the last several years, I'll always have a soft spot for my favorite season of Fall. It just has that cozy factor that I love. Not too cold and yet not too hot . . . Just right:)

Here's to summer in photos.
And cheers to autumn:)

Wow, I did it. 
Yeah, I know I wasn't going to mention my cheating ways in the next post, but this is where criminals go wrong: 
They boast!
I just published my cheatin' post and it has a date in June. Mooo--hahaha. Tech isn't so bad after all.
It lets us pretend we were somewhere we never were.
Wait a minute?! That's bad.
Ok--so tech is as bad as I suspected all along.

This makes me wonder:
Why don't I just post on time?
Clearly there's no magic here. I just talk to you, and you listen, and I don't allow comments, so you don't talk back. 
It all works out.
Why the delay in my monthly commitment?
I don't know.

That's something for me to think about. Figure out. Iron out.
Why do I think this is hard? I think that's a writer thing. We see writing as work and perhaps that's why social media is so prolific (and side note: toxic:) because there is no filter, no editing, no holding back.
It seems everybody wants to be a writer. And everybody wants to be famous.
So--perhaps social media offers up what everybody seems to want whether they should be given a platform to write or be famous at all. They are able.

And now, there's AI. But, really--there will always be unique stories created by humans.
So don't just spill yours away on social media. 
Sit down. Write it out. Think about it. Edit it. Control your own story and don't let people just pull you apart online.
Let your words sit and settle within each reader in their space--
not while they're standing on a subway and looking for ways not to look at the person across from them.
Your story is meant to be digested by someone who is prepared to sit down--napkin on knee--and take it in.
Respect yourself and your story.
It's all each of us has.

​A few weeks ago I was out raking. It was a beautiful, surprisingly mild, fall day and I was happy to have an excuse to get out into nature. Aside from raking leaves into a pile for kids to jump into, I take more of a "leave it alone" (pun intended?) fall clean-up stance. After all, letting leaves sit over the winter is vital to the life cycle of so many insects, a food source for birds, as well as a cheap and easy insulation for my plants. These compelling arguments for letting go of that rake conveniently appeal to my lazy side. I long to hibernate for the winter.

But, I put off hibernating for one more day to bask in the sun, rake in hand, clearing the sidewalk and driveway to ease pedestrian passage. Anybody who happened to see me in action that day surely wondered, "Why is that crazy lady raking leaves off of the sidewalk and into her yard?" Yes, no bagging or Dr. Seuss vacuum cleaner required, just into the garden they go. This menial task gave me a closer look at the trees and plants nearby. That's the magic of nature--it helps me focus and offers endless avenues for contemplation.

Being mid-November, the garden was almost completely under the sleeping spell of winter. I began to notice how so many of the "bad" things are illuminated when everything else starts to die away around them. Creeping Charlie was green and going strong and a person could lose a whole day pulling at its never ending stems that snake through the garden and pool around my plants. Whatever that other creeping vine was (Virginia Creeper?) had turned a brilliant red and looked magnificent . . . but it's a bully to all the plants it strangles out and tramples over during the growing season.

Then I saw my clematis vine looking all withered and worn out compared to something strong and green growing right up beside it--a weed easily hidden in the growing season. It was one of those tall weeds that are yellow with the fluffy seed heads that spread everywhere when you try to pull it out of the ground. It's like the awkward, lanky cousin of the dandelion called Sowthistle (a name I found thanks to a quick look-up on the 'puter). Add to that Common Burdock, one of my top arch nemeses of the garden. Dun, dun, dun-n-n-n-n--​

That infuriating plant goes through various stages of big, wide, fuzzy leaves growing low to the ground--thick taproot like a giant parsnip that never comes out in one piece. A year or two later, that very same plant switches identities and grows into a high, sprawling beast culminating in a crescendo of horrible, sticky burrs that cling to anything passing by it--especially clothing. Ugh.​