Eliza Daley ~ Wordcraft & Musing on Home & Hope
The old lady swept her walk every morning in the dawn light and tended her garden at dusk. She was unknown and unnoticed in the neighborhood. Kept to herself. Smiled at small children and dogs on leashes passing by her gate but did not encourage conversation. She was unremarkable in every way, forgotten as soon… Continue reading Invisible Crows
He was a good boy. Did his chores without prompting. Loved his mama and daddy. Listened and more or less obeyed when big people spoke. He was a tidy child. Washed his hands and brushed his teeth with hardly any cajoling. Kept his room clean. Put his washed laundry away in an orderly system of… Continue reading Summer King Harvest
Yom Kippur begins today. This is the day of atonement, the day to set things right by the world. To ask for and to grant forgiveness. To bring yourself back into balance with others. I had a very different post scheduled for today, but… I was eating my morning oatmeal and reading the local paper.… Continue reading Wednesday Word: 15 September 2021
I saw Mama again last night. Just sitting in her favorite chair in the kitchen. She looked content. She doesn’t speak in these dreams, but there is hope in her eyes. I miss her so much, my heart just breaks when I see her. I think maybe some of the old stories may be right… Continue reading Mama’s Chair
My son was up here for a visit last week. We explored this neighborhood a bit together and found our way up to the Town Cow Pasture Trails a few blocks from my house. This three mile trail loop is pure magic. Slate-bottomed streams, huge old maples, lichen-covered spruce, old orchard remnants, tumbled stone walls,… Continue reading A Meditative Spell to Find the Lost
An informal letter of resignation which nobody will ever read. And a general polemical complaint which nobody will ever care about. I’m not a miracle worker. And they want a miracle. No. It’s worse than that. They need, we need, a miracle. We need a spontaneous and very specific genetic mutation. Now. Yesterday. Twenty years… Continue reading Corn Futures
Nine thousand years. Maybe ten. Maybe fifteen. Five hundred generations. Of humans that is. Nine thousand generations of this. Nine thousand years of fields green with three sisters. The gold of tassels, rust of pods, sun orange and berry red of squash. I feel the breath of my ancestors in these gardens, stirring leaves and… Continue reading 9000 Years (Winifred Mumbles)
I began reading Mark Bittman’s Animal, Vegetable, Junk this week. This might be another formative book. It is trending in that direction. Bittman is tackling our recently soured relationship to food. I can say from experience that this is a daunting writing project, one that I approach obliquely in most of my writing. So I… Continue reading The Wednesday Word: 11 August 2021
I spent today marinating my hands in capsaicin. I roasted, chopped and froze twenty pounds of Big Jim chiles. It took about seven hours in my rather small oven. For over an hour afterwards, my hands were searing. I don’t think my skin would have felt any worse if it was actually on fire. But… Continue reading The Wednesday Word: 4 August 2021
People have always climbed mountains to gain wisdom. Perhaps it is the embodied metaphor of height, perhaps the clear, thin air. Maybe it is merely the belief that there is meaning in the arduous task itself. But I think it might also be true that mountains offer most people their only escape from others. Mountains… Continue reading The Wednesday Word: 28 July 2021
By My Solitary Hearth 