more familiar with the betweens than with the origins and destinations and that, I suppose, is the nature of the journey we take - a conglomeration of moments framed by first and last breaths, by the hopeful fogs of tomorrow's mornings and the dry silences of last year's gardens © Sarah Whiteley
should they ask, I have gone to blue, I have gone to green stillnesses, to the bright-lipped lake where the reeds still recall that the wanting is often greater than ever the having, and that some days the rift is only the start of a different-directioned journey so should they ask, I have gone back, … Continue reading gone to blue
it was late November when I drove toward Maine I still hear how the wind tore across the highway, rattling doors and nearly blowing that tired red Buick into the frozen ditch I had second, third - hell sixth thoughts on the other side of the state line, but I kept right on - forward … Continue reading down east
Five years ago today, one tiny little poem marked the beginning of ebbtide. Five years! Am I celebrating? Hell yes! I am so grateful for the countless ways in which this little space on the internet has helped me - as an emotional outlet, a sounding board, a source of writerly camaraderie, and a place … Continue reading Celebrating!
If you've been with me for any length of time, you'll know that one of the main reasons I began this blog was to rediscover my creative side - something I felt I had lost along the way. It's been a journey. And as with any journey, sometimes you end up in a rather unexpected … Continue reading No Direction But Home – Book Release!
Today marks an anniversary for me - one more than just about "blogging" - one much more meaningful. Today marks 2 years of not just wanting to reclaim myself, but of doing something about it. Finding the courage to rediscover parts of who I used to be, and who I used to mourn no longer … Continue reading Rites of Passage
it begins with a walk through sweet bee fields between trees that speak of mornings beneath the mountain’s gaze left far behind when the wanderer became the lost it starts with the tread of regretful soles along the streams where the northern birch drink the day and point the way through the pass passed by … Continue reading journeying
dust off the trail and waken the winds bend back the grasses and point the birds flying home unpack the sky and cast the stars across the plain retrace those lines of our goodbye leave today for the beggars and tomorrow for the young it's yesterday's gold that shines like the dawn pull out the … Continue reading mapping the path
for just today then let's pretend my feet have found the homeward running road weaving between heart-lands wide mind-skies just for a moment I'll imagine the weight of waiting has evaporated in the hesitant light of a newly waking sun casting my shadow before long with longing for a small spell I will dream this … Continue reading untitled