In the winter of our COVID-19 discontent, spring is a reminder that resilience, empathy and love are the strongest contagions.

A solo trip to a botanical garden was a tonic in troubled times and the inspiration for a poem.

Everyone touches the world in their own way. Making my own tiny imprint through this blog, I want to write more about the gentle things in life.

I’d like to get better at being in the moment, truly living, absorbing, feeling, whatever it is that I’m doing. Being more mindful, overall.

Glover Gardens’ first guest blogger shares memories of his grandmother with a beautiful translation of Still by Jupiter Jones.

Meet a new addition to my list of The Wonderfuls, Jon the Storyteller, who will be a guest blogger on Glover Gardens.

I remember my brother now more with joy at what was than sadness about what will never be.

Reinforcing my benign neglect this year, the greenery of Glover Gardens has gifted us with unexpected late-November blooms.

A poem by Gordon Parks speaks of curiosity, wonder, celebration of life and nature, and the awesome, simple, dead-on-target mindfulness of children.

A footprint, a feather and a leaf, about to be swept away. Remembering my brother in a haiku.

…about mindfulness, and flowers, and tasting life…

A whimsical poem about writer’s block and an elusive paragraph.

I’m not on the recommended pace to write a poem each day this month to participate in National Poetry Month, but this one happened in about 30 seconds. There will never be another muse like my Dad. He was a remarkable, wonderful, loving, accepting, listening […]

A vignette in the produce section inspired a poem about dads and daughters.

A clarion call for mindfulness: what if every day was new year’s day?

From cats who cradle to cast iron to the wisdom of children and wildlife, I have a lot to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.

An elegy for three, from the one remaining. They live in my heart-theater, their voices all trumpets and whispers and hugs.

Summer memories and haiku.

I’d like to be on that porch at Little House in the Rockies, looking at that sunset, feeling the mountain air, shivering just a little.

Bitter over a teenage breakup, I wrote a tiny little poem, a tanshi. It has always stuck with me; it’s so bitter and melodramatic that it makes me laugh.