Although the prognosis for our planet still does not look good, I can’t stop responding. It’s beyond reason, beyond emotion, beyond hope or despair.

In this climate, even a plastic water bottle has the power to divide.

Today I know a deep and everlasting love both for Kay, my milk mother, and for my blood mother, Marie. I wouldn’t be here without both of them. Although they’re gone now, together, they’re alive in me.

Nothing ever evens out. Tears come down wet, whether in fear, grief, delight, or gratitude. That summer, I let the leg anomalies slip off the scales and chose joy over terror.

Little insignificant things can actually make a BIG difference.

Photos from the 2018 Earth Expo, presented by The Berkshire Environmental Action Team, Living the Change Berkshires, 350MA-org Berkshire Node, and many other affiliated organizations and businesses.

A new series of paintings, “Opposite Colors,” exposes an Argentina divided by the hatred generated by the forces of neoliberalism.

Photographer Rodney Tate of Antigonish, Nova Scotia, is out almost every day capturing images of birds–especially the shore birds and eagles that stalk and soar around the beaches near his home. 

This is not my home.
No boundaries contain me,
I go where I’m not wanted,
wipe my feet on the
the unwelcome mat.

she reads the signs

she sees her future

Nature is crippled in our city.

I know no word has ever felt as true

as the world calamity

SLIPPER is the story of a poor orphaned stepchild, a would-be princess, whose search for one true love or another takes her all over 17th century England, France and the Low Countries. Born under mysterious circumstances, she grows up to be a dreamer, a cinder sweep, a runaway, a camp follower, a kisser of frogs, a beggar, a thief, a mother and an artist. Along the way she learns what to do about men. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that her life is a fairy tale come true.

I often dream entire passages or lines for books I’m writing and one night, I woke with this line, “I remember the Winter long ago, the one that lingered like regret.” I had to rustle around in my bedside table to find paper and pen to write it down. When your dreams offer you lines like that, you don’t say no. Later that same day, my husband came into my office and said, “You should write a story about a lynching tree from the point of view of the tree.”