Mj Pettengill

Upon the earth that spins— awakening within its unwinding, fragments of your nest still linger above my kitchen door.

Each day I spend cradled within the sacred woodland veil is another day of thriving.

It wasn’t until the early days of the previous spring that I began the daily ritual of cold plunging.

He brought me up to where the outstretched limbs touch the stars, where I retrieved the part of me that I had left behind...I became whole.

We must push to work together with integrity to nurture, respond, and rejoice in shared abundance.

In Flanders fields, the poppies blow...

Like snowflakes, no two violet petals are alike.

Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have taught them of charity, mercy, and patience.

Often, we sense the presence of the ancient ones through the subtle movement of trees, birds, animals, and plants.

The organ grinder and his monkey were an integral part of the late nineteenth-century street life.

This is our shared morning prayer. I am grateful for them. And they are for me, or at least for the seed.

Trees are essential for life.

It was the epitome of duality—stunning beauty in a harrowing setting. How blessed I was to be in that situation.

Somehow, many humans have forgotten or may not comprehend that all of us and this earth were created in perfection.

My grandparents were guides for my future self, succeeding as both the farmer and the farmer’s wife.

“But I know where the real finale is, and we can beat the traffic.”

I feel blessed to have had you as my earthly father and honor the gifts you gave me in life that continue to unfold.

"We shall meet, but we shall miss him; there will be one vacant chair; We shall linger to caress him when we breathe our evening prayer."

"St. John’s wort doth charm all the witches away. If gathered at midnight on the saint’s holy day. And devils and witches have no power...

...born of another time...