As you will hear some people read poetry so that no mortal could tell it was poetry, so do some people read their own lives and those of others.       George MacDonald, Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood

summer, having abruptly ended,

September 1 arrives.

The rooster crows; 6:30am

dark no sunrise hinted in the east even yet

high expected 67.

I am insufficient, mere decency no longer equates to enough in this life

I’ve been out of the nights-hiding for nearly three hours now, enraptured by reading, engaged in pen on paper journaling

tucked under slim blanket with window open, rain splattering gently against the deck just beyond

I know the light will deepen and expand soon

I know the summer is coming to a close and the blessedness of the quieter season is nearly upon me.

I will not panic in this change. I will not judge something ‘over’ before I see what is becoming. This too is a beginning. This too is a new. This too, shortening and cooling, falling and curling-in notwithstanding, is a place I can open to and expand~

A waiting, an easing, even dare I say

an anticipation Not of,

but for. 

What does curling in bring

how is my insufficiency 

entirely sufficient?
This is my good work today. This is my good work. 


Curl in.

To read more, experience more, or come stay, check out the full workshop and art retreat listing here or to book into the EncaustiCastle Airbnb, here! Also available: venue hire for your own group or retreat, and twice-yearly Artist Residency~