in this story
a summer wind
blew our hair
across our faces
and fat seagulls
ate bread from
our lifted palms.
you tap danced
across the bridge
and sang songs
of the moon.
mother said all
poems become words
and threads release
seeds. let’s harvest
another story, friend.
talk to me about roundness,
the gravity where we cluster,
thick skin, soft insides,
held on a single wire.
words don’t matter
you do
across a table
carrying our years
cups in hand
shadow pens
starry paper
ray dotted cheeks
called-out names like a song
jane says look up
we rewrite the room
“She did not succumb to the battering of the brutal elements in her life. No, instead, with nourishment and strength from those surrounding her, and from her own deep, strong roots, she continued to grow; not just grow but thrive! So much so that she did not buckle under the weight that was not her own.”—Claudia
For the month of June, my model was my lovely friend Claudia. We met during sunrise, to avoid the heat, and our time together was magical. We wandered the same wooded area I had taken photos in last month, but it looked different, more golden and less dark green. I focused my camera on capturing her lovely energy, smile, and how she connects to nature.
Continue reading
“A winner is a loser who tried one more time.
Not the smartest.
Not the fastest.
Just the one who didn’t stop.”
—George M. Moore Jr.
For the month of March, my model was my dear friend Penny. I met her in 2013 at the table read for the Listen to Your Mother stage show. We locked eyes across the table, and instantly connected. She possesses a warmth and kindness that allows her to make people feel profoundly seen, a rare gift. She’s a singer, writer, storyteller, caregiver, and one of my favorite people on the planet.
Continue reading
birthday soon
leaves begin their autumn dress
eager wind rushes to receive
only in dreams, summer remains
—Neil, 2021
As many of you know, my dear friend and fellow blogger, Neil Reid, left us last November. Today would have been his 78th birthday. In honor of his kind heart and beautiful writing, I’d like to share with you two poems that will be in our poetry collection coming out next spring. The first one I wrote in honor of Neil, and the second is a favorite poem of his. He had a way of stringing together many different ideas to make you understand a deep truth. The photo above is of his beloved dragon statue which made it’s way to me. It’s magical, like him.
I miss him so much.
If you have a favorite Neil memory, please share it. Or, if his writing is new to you, read more and let me know what you think.
you are my moose
four legs rooted in soil
stars dancing in dark pupils
sniffing for ripe plums
running from wolves
you hand me threads
wrapped around words
unraveling big pills
not wooden, real live boy
feet kissing earth
you turn toward light
living moss-covered verbs
bowls of ocean water
melt like sugar does
children need sunlight
you wanted Neverland
stories told under willows
hunger turned into warmth
forgetting ancient lost faces
harvest moon dancing
you call me mother
as in honey comb
solid tree branches
bend into dream blossoms
nests, fragile eggs
you remain soft bear
flowing tidal kindness
snuggling soft memories
chocolate cake, closed eyes
embrace salty breath
you return home
tail, fin, gills, scales
shyness turned into galaxies
unafraid of unknown shapes
love is a bucket
we keep filling
forever
—Bridgette
when I can’t quite see you. unclear. obstructed.
cluttered by stray thought. sound but no sight.
although more than an arm’s length away. or,
maybe it’s just smoke. fine bits of something
recently burnt. a particulate suspended mass.
describe smoke
when I called, you came to me. only a few steps
measured away, but it meant you had to get up,
get out of bed. something in the dark looked
awry. my height marked in pencil, ascending
on the doorway jam. yours by a calming hand.
describe mother
she was always there. more than anyone. her.
feeder of stray cats, any cats. hands that held
no threats, not to anyone. a gingham dress.
always. at least my always. memory bigger
than me. mother of mother.
describe Janet
you come from out of the ground. you come
from mountaintops. you come from high and
grey and green and white and dark, clouds we
say. one drop at a time still makes an ocean
to waiting watchful acolytes. thirst. we drink.
describe water
check mark all of the above. a first beginning,
eagerly. tell me all the stars. tell me all the
worlds. tell me about me and about you. I’m
all ears. I’ll bring the old cooking pot.
describe everything
you come from the ground when I call. you answer thirst.
you bake bread. I comb your hair. cat’s asleep on the bed.
you are rolling brown grass hills. my hand knows the curves.
you are a bowl of soup. you are inside when outside is rain.
describe loving
—Neil
You’ll forever be my water, Neil. Happy Birthday.
Last week I spent time recharging and writing in a beautiful house on Cobb Mountain. My creative, giving, and loving friends helped me figure out the title of the short story book I’ll be self-publishing in April. I wrote the introduction and edited several stories. They were invaluable in listening to me rattle on about my dreams and fears.
In this tumultuous time in America, it felt good to surround myself with strong women. We need each other more now than ever.
“They will want you seated, conformed, and quiet but don’t you dare fit in. Scream the house down if it’s what it will take to make your noise heard. The divine feminine has been shamed and shunned for self-expression for far too long, we aren’t here to silence ourselves anymore.”—Nikki Rowe
As always, all photos were taken by me with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW. Let me know if you have a favorite and have a wonderful week.
Forget about everything else and be right here. Look at the way the full moon rises, timid and then quickly. Bold. Look at the way the Joshua Trees grow. Each branch jutting off the main tree is from an injury. They make broken look beautiful. You do too.
Let’s remember this moment and make more. Many, many more.
“What draws people to be friends is that they see the same truth. They share it.”
—C.S. Lewis
It’s not like me to be spontaneous. I like planning, making lists, and being as prepared as possible. Last week I decided at the last minute to visit my childhood best friend in Las Vegas for her birthday and got ready in three hours. It was a perfect, beautiful, enjoyable, and fully unplanned whirlwind of a few days capped off by the appearance of the Hunter’s supermoon. My heart is so full.
Most of these photos were taken at the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. However, the last few photos were taken on the drive back in the morning. The last photo is the moon setting as the sun rose close to Newberry Springs, CA.
As always, all photos were taken by me with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW. Let me know if you have a favorite and have a wonderful week. Only two full moons left of the year. Wow.
sitting across me
hands breathing fire
you burn sunflowers
into moonless shadows
remember
touch inky waves
scream amber light
open every sunroof
rotate back to you
For anyone struggling right now, but especially Cin.
Beneath the painted trees
lives another world
tilted a little to the left
Open your eyes
walk two steps forward
feel the movement
You might hear raindrops
or the lake calling
don’t get distracted
Lean all the way in
watch as looping circles
turn into golden threads
Pull one
Become a magnet
draw others near
trust you won’t fall
You’re a warmth weaver
create a fireside nest
fill it with moonlight
Burrow deep inside
touch the fabric
tell yourself not to forget
This is dedicated to the lovely women I’m spending the weekend with in Tahoe.
Bridgette Tales 