Mj Pettengill

Going way back, in dreams of wooded hills and endless children’s laughter, they wait, stories begging to be remembered.

She is on her own, free to make the journey to warm, sunny Mexico. I wish her well.

We must wait until the time is right, not too soon or too late, to break out of the chrysalis—

We must take the time to comprehend the consequences of our actions, both good and bad.

Rise up! The root season awaits.

“Anyone who tells a lie has not a pure heart and cannot make a good soup.” — Beethoven

The souls of the departed visit us on the wings of a monarch.

Together we sang, our melodies mingling, dancing across the treetops, over the vernal pool, and drifting into the woods.

Remember to love yourself as much as you do others.

My fireworks have wings and fly around in the fields and out by the pond.

Until meeting Samuel, I was unaware that I had left a vital part of my soul in the heart of that tree.

With Abigail, I shared gratitude when my father gave me this doll. And like Abigail, my doll meant more after my father’s passing.

“Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.” —Rumi

Forget-me-not because we grow together...

Before Death’s final blow, she was but a flower that never faded, showin’ me the fierceness of a mother’s love.

From the bosom of the devastated earth, a voice goes up with our own. It says, "Disarm, Disarm!"

Within a short time, many of my former curls were in messy, swirling clumps, blowing gently in the trees.

Ah yes, we are resilient and resourceful.

My father had been dying for so long, that letting go was bittersweet.

Here, in the fields of Marigold Moon, is a lovely pond.