Follow the Cardinal

“Afterall, if you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.”

A Donkumentary

It’s colder than Narnia out there, y’all.

I’m looking out the back window at the small patches of snow hiding in the shadows of my backyard when down from the bony trees, a bright, red cardinal descends. He lands in the damp leaves and hops about, cocking his head side to side. He bounces with authority as if he knows precisely where he’s going on this cold day. I scramble to find my camera but manage only to snap a few, blurry photos of a red smudge. I wonder if he’s leading me to something like the robin leading Mary to her Secret Garden? I decide to bundle myself and go out to follow the bird.

Last week, I started re-reading The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett for the first time since I was in middle school. I remember, as a pre-teen, enjoying the book, although my memory…

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Time for Silence

make sure to tend to your sweet hearts this season.

A Donkumentary

I realize I’ve fallen into this habit of beginning my blog posts by describing something that I’m up to when my thoughts begin to twirl and tumble around some thing that I’ve been worried about, obsessing over, or working hard to accomplish and I think it’s because I do my best kind of pondering when I’m busy with something. Moving meditation, perhaps. Or maybe it’s because I am able to occupy some of the busier parts of my brain with a task, thus allowing room for the deeper, more thoughtful areas of my mind to stretch their limbs a little.

But as you may have read in one of my recent posts, ‘Magic Eye,’ things have been moving pretty fast around here lately and I suspect that the entirety of my conscious mind (even those deeper and more contemplative areas) are in a constant state of “all hands…

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Magic Eye

A year forward and still no decipherable image. The colors and shapes keep shifting (some bright, some dark, some which make no sense) so I suppose a continuing gaze isn’t a waste.

A Donkumentary

It’s dawn. Somewhere behind the trees, the sun is shifting, although the sky is still holding onto a few bright stars in her darkness not yet touched by the waking light. I’ve slipped my boots on over my flannel jammie pants and am pulling my hoodie over my head. It’s in the 30’s out there which, for us native Texans with thin blood, is brutal. The dogs scatter around my feet with their tails wagging and claws scratching the tile floor: they’re ready to run around in the cold and to chase squirrels or rabbits who often explore the yard in the wee hours.  

I open the back door, the cold scratching my face, as the dogs sprint past me and out of sight. I cinch the hood around my face as I walk towards the barn, leaves crunching beneath my boots. The donkeys know I’m coming: Bunny begins…

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Silence

Two years have passed since I watched those furry moths flutter away. It’s only been a few times that silence has visited me since and absorbed my chatter and snowballs without need for justification or explanation. I’m anxious to have her over again. It’s been too long.

A Donkumentary

It’s not quite dawn and the only sound I hear is the low buzz of the running refrigerator from the kitchen. Peering out my front window which has two, furry moths on it side-by-side, I’m watching the blackness beyond my front porch, waiting for the spaces between the trees that I know are there to fade into orange as the sun comes up. Right now, it’s darkness. I remember a year and a half ago, I wrote a blog called “It’s Always Darkest Before Dawn,” and here I find myself again in the deepest part of the night and in the deepest part of my mind, waiting for the sky to fade into light.

One of the moths stuck to the window rotates and flutters its wings—a morning stretch, perhaps. In a few minutes, I’ll be hopping online to lead a guided meditation with a group of friends…

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“A Place For Us All Here”

In celebration of taking another cross-country trip to see my most favorite band, Old Crow Medicine Show, I’m reposting this blog which contains all the same feelings this time around as last ❤️ This time I trekked up north to Detroit, Michigan and left feeling revived, refreshed, and in eager anticipation of the next time I get to see these boys. If only we could all share our world in the friendly, neighborly way as is the space their shows provide. More love. More oneness. More lettin loose, y’all.

A Donkumentary

They ain’t lying when they say it’s always darkest before dawn because it’s about a quarter of 6AM and the surrounding darkness is almost suffocating. I’m on a winding, two-lane highway which slowly and repetitively climbs up then dips down between heavy pines with dangling, skeletal fingers. Signs tell me that I’m fixing to cross over the Sabine River into Louisiana.

For the first time in probably thirty minutes, another vehicle appears around the corner in front of me and I quickly turn off my car’s brights. They do the same and I have to say how much I love the respect we strangers show each other during overnight driving. Rarely in my dark drives have I ever experienced the motorist who fails to turn off their brights and I think that says a lot about how polite people are just by nature. I’d wave, but they won’t see me—I…

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The Midday Scorcher

I recall this story from last summer for two reasons: 1) it’s already hotter than blue blazes out there and 2) the launching of Lost Meadows Mule Refuge (LMMR, a division of PVDR) has me so excited to start shining more light on mules and the similar plight they face. Like donkeys, mules built this country and then have seemingly been forgotten since. For more information on LMMR visit our website at mulerescue.org.

Side note: the book I reference in this post, “The Midnight Cool,” is really a wonderful novel – both as a read and a listen on Audible – I can’t recommend enough.

A Donkumentary

I’m three hours into a drive out west and it’s hotter’n blue blazes out there. My dash board’s telling me it’s 116 degrees, but even with the a/c working as hard as it can, that temperature feels underestimated. Having lived in Texas my whole life, I’m supposed to be used to this, but hoo boy I tell ya, there’s no getting used to frying eggs in your driveway.

Still, I love this drive. This 6-hour jaunt out west to the land of 1,000 donkeys that I find excuses to make where I end up on two-lane highways surrounded by prickly pears and yucca plants is therapy. I have no cell service on much of this route and either spend it listening to a pre-downloaded audio book or all of my Old Crow Medicine Show albums. I am as good’a singer as Ketch Secor on these drives; it’s a shame no…

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June Afternoons

Still, long are June afternoons and still, hollow is my heart where Tink left us.

This has got to be my favorite photo of him.

A Donkumentary

Long are June afternoons
Where the sun floats in blurry
Waves above every shiny surface,
Where densely-leaved trees sway
Lazily as if to fan themselves,
Where clouds thinly sprawl in
Wispy, white brush strokes across
Windless, endless blue sky.

Long are June afternoons
Where wonder floats gently like
Wished upon dandelions;
Scattered pseudo petals soaked in
The desires of dreamers and blown
Into directionless breeze.
Where thoughts dangle like dying lilies,
Drifting down petal by once vibrant petal.

June Afternoon

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