Since the end of 2015, I have sent out an Invitation each week to folks both near and far, to join me in reading this beautiful and powerful book…read more
in March
On this momentarily calm, late-winter-into-spring evening,
I call out to you who share the unmistakable gifts of living the lives that we are blessed to live,
Along with the inevitable grief that comes from those gifts…whether it be the loss of some of those gifts, or the taking of the gifts without truly asking first if we may indeed take…
We all share great reason to praise and great cause to grieve. Come and join us as we continue to read Martín Prechtel’s sweet and mighty gift of a book, The Smell of Rain on Dust. We have begun again, and with each reading there are new gifts to be found.
Join us on the dark of the Moon. Hot water and tea and honey await you. Bring a snack if you like…but more important, bring your dear-hearted self.
A note about your approach to my cabin: As you pass my car, Rosebud, and you’re coming up the little path to the cabin, please stay on the path…or if you have the urge to be off the path, please veer to your right. I’ve just scattered some more wildflower seeds in the “bed” to your left and they are dreaming sweet dreams of when they might poke their sleepy heads above ground – that is, if they haven’t already become food to fill the belly’s of the ever-hungry Robins who share this land.
Sweet wildflower dreams of spring to you,
a pile of sticks 