loving you…

When you awaken

To a love you never knew

There I will be…


When you stand strong

For those who cannot for themselves

There I will be…


When you lift a little one

So she can touch the stars

There I will be…


When you search forever

In the worldly knot of time

There I will be…


When your branches entwine and twirl

In reaching for the brilliant sky

There I will be…


When your treasured moments

Burn bright with fiery promise

There I will be…


When your winding path

Feels far too far and far too long

There I will be…


When you are softly resting

Amidst the flutter of tender wings

There I will be…


When your soulful heart

Journeys atop the crested ocean waves

There I will be…


When you pause in wonder

To gaze at small things never seen

There i will be…


When your thoughts are lost

In the honeyed strings of a pleasing violin

There I will be…


When your fingers dance

In time with a graceful arch

There I will be…


When you find at last

Your golden grail

There i will be…


The loving wine within your cup…


ellie894 March 2018



I have been touched deeply by loss this week. Each time I pick up my pen only one word makes it all the way out…


Tears are already at the edges of me…

I have given up more times than I can count. I walk away not knowing where to begin or what, if anything I can say. My thoughts are heavy and yet floating just out of reach. helpless.

Savannah, a beautiful young woman inside and out took her life this week.

I cannot stop thinking of her and of everyone who knew her.

I am Savannah’s best friend from first grade. We ate lunch side by side everyday and giggled over Green Eggs and Ham. When she was home sick my days were long and lonesome.

I am Savannah’s fifth grade math teacher. Her homework was messy and sometimes late but her laughing eyes were a bright spot in my life.

I am Savannah’s first kiss. We were both so scared. I’m glad it was her. I hope that she was glad it was me.

I am Savannah’s dear friend. I’ll never see The Birdcage without thinking of her. That funny part she liked so much we had to rewind and watch it over again. The next time, I’ll have a tissue handy, just in case.

I am Savannah’s best friend. How will I ever go back and walk through our shared home. The last time I saw her she said…

I am Savannah’s mother, numb with heartbreak.

And Savannah…

I am everyone who ever knew Savannah. I am everyone she ever touched with her smile. Life will never be the same.

It is so short.

Even when life is long, it is short. Over and again that truth finds me. It’s a lesson I tire of learning.

Where were you the first time you learned that life was short?

Was it a happy moment? Ten years old blowing dandelion wishes…with a puff of breath they were gone…but they carried your dreams along with them…and so it felt hopeful.

Or was it a day of heartbreak full of thorns that left you with scars.

One keeps on. The woods are blessedly nearby and I have energetic companions who remind me to live this day, this one day in front of me in the best way that I can.

My path stretches before me. One step at a time…each one brings me closer to healing. Between the trees…cross the creek…through the fence…into the meadow…under wide open skies.

It is brilliant blue today and the sun is gentle and warming. The wind is stirring and musical. Just behind me the breeze suddenly gathers the dry leaves from the ground sending them whirling like a dervish many feet into the air…until they pass me by…and are gone…

No doubt this truth will come into my life again. Each time it’s just a little bit different. Every time it hurts.

But, it always reminds me…

Life is short…

Eat cookies for dinner, warm from the oven with ice cold milk.

Pour a glass of wine, take it to the porch swing and listen to the birds.

Stop saving your favorite dress. Wear it just because it’s Tuesday.

Laugh with those you care about. Cry with them too.

Hold hands at the zoo.

Blow iridescent bubbles and watch them until they land.

Roll down the windows, turn up the music and go for a drive to feel the wind blow in your hair.


You are far more important to more people than you will ever know. Tell them what they mean to you…because you still can…

do it all for Savannah

with love, suzanne ❤️


If you or someone you know is contemplating suicide please reach out for help.





Could you ever…

Gusty winds brush clouds away. Delicious stars sing the story of once… Cozy up and listen to the notes they play…

Tuck one foot up beside me…the other rests on the ground… heel…toe…heel…toe… never making a sound… it keeps the swing persuading … gently… to and fro… thoughts … they drift now … as on we go …

I fell into a starry night…caressed by clouds above the woods…it held me soft and asked me if I could…

Could you see…

Circling strokes with brilliant ease. Hear colors whirling in the breeze. Cool night air is thick with paint in dreamy shades of blue. I placed them there…lovingly for you…

Could you feel…

In a moment of unbridled passion the wind calls out and teases the leaves to dance. The trees…they answer… with an arch and a sway that beckons the wind in wild romance…

Could you hear…

Flashes and clashes of fiery yellow…heat up the night…as a bow across strings…stars echo the rhythm…and wordlessly ring…

Could you taste…

Traces of silver slide evermore…through open window to reach the floor…as white as cream…velvety true…sweetly, sir moonbeam…kisses you…

All keep time to eternal song… color and wind and violin…

Will you sing along…

Could you hear a painting… could you see a song… could you feel love upon the wind…lasting forever long…

Gliding on the porch swing…to and fro…to and fro…

Could you ever…


ellie894 February 2018


In a city

Lived a town house.

Through a window

On the second floor

I could see

A garage.

Beyond that

A street,

Beyond that

More houses,

Looking back at me.

But if,

I sat

Upon the floor


Laid upon the bed


Cast my eyes

Through the glass


The sky

There was

A grand and towering

Pine tree.

He filled me

With hope.

He carried me

Past the sadness of the day.

He taught me

The story


Before there was concrete

There was this

Tall and strong

Waving in the wind

Shelter and home

To many.

He taught me

That green

Is the color of kindness.

He taught me

That to sway with the breeze

Is the secret of strength.

He was always there

As close as

My unveiled window

Upon the world.

He laughed

With me.

He cried

With me.

But always

He stayed

With me.

He never needed

Boat or plane

Car or train

To travel the world.


He sailed the skies

And saw a million moments

Come and go…

In every pine I see

Stand tall

There is a hint of him

Within them all.


Written and photographed by Ellie894 February 2018


Once upon a time…

There was a crocodile named Clyde. He was rather lonesome and lost.

But, when Clyde slept he dreamed wonderful dreams of a home…

One day,

Clyde fell asleep in the shade of the sweet-gum tree, beneath its branches filled with stars.

And he dreamed…of shy tortoises sunning themselves on an out stretched log.

All of a sudden…

Plink! Plonk! Plunk!

Prickly fruit dropped from the sweet-gum tree onto Clyde’s head waking him from a sound slumber.

So, he stood up on his short legs and plodded along until he found a new place.

Clyde fell asleep in the shade of the wise old oak tree, beneath its branches filled with hidden homes.

And he dreamed…of birds soaring high overhead.

All of a sudden…

Plink! Plonk! Plunk!

Marble like acorns dropped from the oak tree onto Clyde’s head waking him from a sound slumber.

So, he stood up on his short legs and strolled along until he found a new place.

Clyde fell asleep in the shade of a towering pine tree beneath its branches filled with chattering squirrels.

The pine straw made a good place to rest and soon enough he was dreaming again…of frogs hopping playfully in the mud.

All of a sudden…

Plink! Plonk! Plunk!

Pine cones dropped from the towering pine tree onto Clyde’s head waking him from a sound slumber.

With a sigh he stood up on his short legs and trekked on.

He wondered if he would ever find a true home.

His short legs carried him far across the land.

He trudged through cold winter snow.

He tiptoed through fresh spring flowers.

He twirled through dry dusty summer.

He ambled through drifting autumn leaves.

Clyde wandered through wide open spaces

And through busy noisy towns

Clyde traveled on and on…

He saw a great many wonderful things.

But, none of them felt right in his heart.

So he kept on…

Until one day when Clyde was very tired and full of despair…

He came to the edge of a great lake.

There were trees shading the banks.

There were shy tortoises sunning themselves.

There were birds soaring high overhead.

There were even frogs hopping playfully in the mud.

It was just like Clyde’s dream.

It was a quiet happy place underneath enormous skies.

Clyde thought that he would stay.


Just over there…

On the bank, half in the water and half out…

Half in the sun and half out…

Was a crocodile just like himself!

Slowly Clyde approached her…

He was a little scared…

What if she didn’t like him?

My name is Clyde. What’s yours?

Camellia, she said shyly.

That’s a lovely name. May I sit with you Camellia?

I’d like that – she said with a warm smile.

All at once…

Clyde knew

That he had found…home.


Written and photographed by Ellie894 February 2018

the waltz

The sun blazes farewell as it sets in the autumn sky taking the light of day along to another place whose time has come. Strong silhouettes rule this moment where one thing slowly becomes another.

Lily checks her reflection in the glass once more. The long calico dress is simple but it is the best she has. Her chestnut hair falls soft about her shoulders pulled back with the only satin ribbon she owns…blue

Butterflies carry her down the stairs in a fluttering what if…

It is a time before neon lights hide the beauty of the night. Vast countryside is softly bathed in shadow. A half moon curls up as sentinel in an ebony sky.

Music and laughter call out in welcome through the open barn door. The scent of hay mingles with tempting aromas that float above the kettles simmering with hearty fare.

Gingham cloth drapes over and down wooden farmhouse tables laden with the bounty of orchard and fire. Hot cornbread is so golden it just might be worth something.

Pastry has been rolled and filled with the stuff that dreams are made of. A dusting of sugar and time in the oven has them bubbling and sparkling until one can hardly wait.

A few men keep time with their feet as their bows fly fast over the fiddle strings! Sometimes…they slow and soften.

One by one, couples take to the center of the barn. They are timid at first, until the joy of the song fills their hearts. In this place, skirts catch the air and not a single toe will be stepped on…wink

Then, from beyond the hustle and bustle…

the gentleman offers his arm and a warm smile. She accepts both with the raspberry blush of cheek that she knew would come.

No one notices as they make their way past fiddlers and ladies keeping watch over food and even the couples twirling round the dance floor.

…through the open door… into the fresh night air…past the storytellers spinning tales by the fire’s warm glow…

…to the lovely place where moonbeams shine and music can still be heard…

One, two three…step, two three…sweet notes drift in the air above their makeshift dance floor…eyes lost in one another…they waltz…beneath a million stars…

Long after the fiddles stop playing…long after the pies are eaten…long after the world has disappeared…hand in hand…they dance…


Inspired by Ashokan Farewell by Jay Ungar and Molly Mason

written and photographed by Ellie894 February 9, 2018

Fifteen Real Pumpkins

Wish and hope and dream. Some days they are very much the same prayer, inseparable from one another and yet a whole world of possibilities within them. Some days they fill me until there is too much and they spill over with goodness. Some days they are buried in dark murky places and I cannot find them no matter how hard I try. Still…my dreams are always there…waiting for me.

Beneath a cold clear sky I send my wishes to the stars before the day begins. Star light, star bright…

Why do we wish upon a star, so far away…so up high…so out of reach. Why don’t we wish on something closer to home…like pumpkin seeds.

Cut open a pumpkin and reach inside. Feel all those seeds in the slime, held tight to the pumpkin and to each other by strong sinewy strings. It’s a mess in there! Dozens of ecru teardrops wait in the darkness like stars in the sky. Only they are touchable…and they become wondrous real things.

Pumpkin seeds do not have an outward brilliance that catches my eye. As I hold one between my fingers it feels slippery and sticky and yet, full of promise. Every pumpkin seed is a treasure chest locked tight with unseen gold.

How strange that our wishes reach to the heavens, to places we cannot go and cannot touch. Why don’t our wishes dig deeply instead. Why don’t our wishes begin in the earth and reach towards the sprawling beauty of becoming real.

I cannot touch a star or hold it in my hand the way I can a pumpkin seed. The seed is immediate and urgent as I grip it between my fingers and with my open heart it has already become an entire field of fruit, sprawling vines, delicate sunny flowers, and pumpkins one after another as far as my eye can imagine.

No man made plastic pumpkin will ever give way to such luscious possibilities.

In late September I drove to a local market for pumpkins. Fifteen pumpkins! They were a variety of crazy large shapes. No smalls. No mediums. All Larges! A couple of them were so big I could hardly manage them on my own. Would they topple on the way to the car! I had visions of them rolling all over the parking lot and me being rather helpless to stop them.

Then came the dilemma of arranging them in the car. More than one person looked at me with a smile that suggested… better you than me.

Pumpkins are deceptively dusty. Although their bold orange hides it, they carry a layer of soil leftover from their field days. And, they do enjoy sharing it with you. Nevertheless, the pumpkins were glorious and I was happy with my choices and their overflowing nature, rather like having a car full of balloons. It’s just a naturally happy moment.

So it was that fifteen real pumpkins came to reside with me.

Two collapsed before the end of October. One was given over to be carved for Halloween. A couple deflated after the first freeze. A few more were looking grim at the end of November. I lost another and another as December turned to Christmas turned to New Years.

As I head out to walk there are still some spicy orange orbs amongst the fallen brown leaves of winter. Signs of decay are easy enough to spot when you look closely. One by one they will each fall away.

Of course they don’t really go. Instead they transform as surely as the butterfly…from pumpkin to seed to green leafy shoot to yellow flower and finally, back to pumpkin again. They never stop giving.

In years past I have decorated with plastic pumpkins, the cute ones with handles and clever faces. In fact, I still have some of them tucked away in the attic. They last longer, people say. One can use them year after year, people say. You get your money’s worth, people say. Yes, I guess that’s all true enough…

Plastic pumpkins need to be stored and cleaned. Climb into the sweltering attic to bring them down. Put a heavy rock in them so they won’t blow away or be carried off and chewed to bits by a canine companion. Imagine the mess made by lovable canine companion. Weeks later clean them of all the muck they collected in the great outdoors. Trudge back into the attic to put them away. Next year, repeat. Ugh.

With time and weather plastic becomes brittle and its colors fade. It loses its vibrancy. You pull it down from the attic one year and think – hmm, it doesn’t look much like a pumpkin anymore. It toughens to the breaking point. Then sharp edges jut forth, jagged and hurtful to all that dare to come close. In age and time plastic pumpkins harden to the world around them.

Real pumpkins grown by a real farmer in a real field brighten my life and bring me real joy! In age and time they soften to the world around them. Even as they decompose, they freshen. Real pumpkins give way to more life, not less. In the days and months to come they will spring forth again and again in enchanting new ways.

My colorful pumpkins and what’s real and what’s not sends my thoughts back to the childhood tale of The Velveteen Rabbit. To become real one must love and be loved and that is a profoundly messy but beautiful thing.

As time flies before you, are you real or are you plastic…

I love to wish upon the stars in the charcoal sky. I won’t stop anytime soon. I love sending my dreams soaring into the heavens to light up the night.

But the pumpkin with its seeds has something to teach me about wishing too. Even as I write this I wonder if it’s silly to wish on pumpkin seeds. People will laugh at me. Stars are so glamorous. Pumpkin seeds are so…not glamorous.

But I do wish…

I wish for bright pumpkin filled days of joy! I wish to soften with time. I wish for a quiet embrace to protect the promise within. I wish to blossom in love. I wish to be real…

May your wishes flower into a beautiful field of dreams.

Fifteen Real Pumpkins written and photographed by ellie894 February 2, 2018



Yes, Bo?

It’s cold out here…

Yes Bo, it’s very cold out here.


Yes, Bo?

Are you listening…

Yes, Bo, I’m listening.

Let’s go home…

But why, Bo?

I’ve had enough of this snow thing…

Don’t you like the snow Bo?

Yeah, it’s ok but my snuggle spot’s waitin’ for me…

Ah, of course it is Bo.

It’s callin’ my name…

Your name? You don’t say Bo?


Yes, Bo?

I’m ready to go home…

When would you like to go, Bo?

What do you mean, when?

I was just wondering Bo.


Oh…Ok Bo.

Now would be good…

Ok Bo.

Ten minutes ago woulda been better…

Ok Bo.

You know there’s bacon treats at home…

Yes there are Bo.

I’ll share with you…

I’m good Bo, you can have all the bacon treats.

You do love me, don’t you…

Yes, I do Bo…more than you will ever know.

I love you too…

Thank you Bo.

Hey, can we go home…

Yes, Bo…

Let’s go home…

Originally published on – all my heart sees

a little boy and a little girl…

Once upon a time…

There was a little boy…Who loved a little girl


He carried her books…

And sang her songs…

All the melodies his heart did carry


Wrinkles formed on his tiny brow…

What if she didn’t…

He worried, somehow


Once upon a time…

There was a little girl…Who loved a little boy


She penned him notes…

Folded tightly in squares…

All the words her heart did carry


She blushed as he opened…

Her thoughts so true…

She worried, whatever might he do


Once upon a time…

There was a little boy…And there was a little girl


Who had no wrinkles…

Who had no worries…

Their only gifts were hearts so true



They walked together…

Hand in hand…

In love forever…


written and photographed by Ellie894, 2018

live your story…

The clock ticks away, marking time. Sunday becomes Monday. 2017 falls into history making room for 2018. This minute has sixty seconds, the same as the last minute did but it is new. This year will have the same twelve months as last year did but it is ripe with new beginnings.

It is 2:18. The clock in my kitchen has not moved for weeks now. It’s not the battery. I checked that. I should take it down and let it go. I should make room for a new clock. I haven’t yet. I always wanted a great big round clock to keep the time. My dad took this one off of his workshop wall and handed it to me a few years ago. It has kept me company with its rhythmic ticking ever since, until recently.

I wonder about lots of things. Like, time passing and the way birds puff up in the cold and why am I here? Certainly the answer to the last question is not – to be perfect. Or at least I hope that’s not the answer. If it is, I’m failing miserably.

Do you suppose that if you knew why, then you would get busy taking care of that. Getting down to the business of doing what you’re here to do. Or…do you think you would drag your feet at the seeming impossibility of the task. All by yourself you should see to it that an entire continent has clean water. So, yeah. Good luck with that!

You think you want to know why. But, if you were truly given that answer…crystal clear on a silver platter, what would you actually do with it. Maybe…you already have the why and you just don’t recognize it.

Here I am again in the kitchen, so early in the morning. It’s cold and still dark out but I cannot see the stars. A thick gray sky conceals them from me. The answers to my wonderings are just as hidden as the stars.

Warmth emanates from my small pottery cup decorated with a windmill. It is hot with coffee. Soon it will fill me one bittersweet sip at a time. Even with cream and sugar there is a hint of the strength of the brew underneath. It took many years for me to enjoy coffee. Now that I do, I like it strong and with chicory. I like it to bite a little. Water should taste like water and coffee should taste like coffee.

Bo is stretched out and dreaming at my feet. I move his favorite pillow so that he can be close to me. Otherwise, he stares at me while resting his head in my lap and extending a paw in concern – you should really get my pillow…or pet me…or feed me…or you should put that pen down and pay attention to me…seriously, it’s all about me. But, if I settle his pillow, he will rest. Contentedly he will curl up and fall asleep. Every once in a while he lets out a groan of sorts and I wonder…what he’s thinking.

Growing up, I attended a sacred heart girls school. Yes, there were nuns…but no punishing rulers. Yes, there were uniforms…I still can’t bring myself to wear plaid. But, for me it was a haven. Whatever might be going on beyond those gates, for a few hours every day, there was gentle peace. I knew it was ok to be just who I was and to explore the woman I might one day become.

There was a two story white house on the grounds called…wait for it…the White House! You didn’t see that coming, did you. It looked out over a grove of pines and beyond that was a busy Houston street.

So many years of French class! I can still recite the nursery rhyme – jack be nimble – in French. You never know when that will come in handy…just saying. Quite the party trick, a lot of demand for it. Shall I do it now? No? Ok, then. I’ll save it for later…

Mrs. Doyle started me keeping a journal. My script was So small she could barely make it out and would kindly ask me to write a little larger please. Nevertheless, she encouraged me to write…thank you Mrs. Doyle…

Mrs. Finch was known to the senior girls as Babs. I never left her class without a smile. Her command of history was incredible! One morning I looked down only to see she had worn two different shoes to school. One black and one navy. An honest mistake, especially when you learn that the electricity had been out at her house. A dark closet, it could happen to anyone. It wasn’t so much the different colors that gave us a chuckle though. It was the different heel heights… Babs spent that day good natured as always but with a colorful limping down the hallways, one shoe a solid two inches taller than its partner.

Beyond reading, writing and arithmetic there was an underlying and gentle nod to what others in the world might be going through. Bring a can of soup tomorrow. What we collect will find its way to those who need it. Your own lunch will be… a bowl of soup. You will assuredly make it to the end of the day without starvation. And, if you do feel momentary hunger…there are those who fall asleep that way…nightly.

I waited too long to take that last sip of coffee. It cooled off in my hand. I have no microwave so there won’t be any reheating. Sometimes I go ahead and finish what I’ve started. Sometimes I don’t. I pour it out and let it go. Both are fine. It’s only a few sips of coffee after all. They will not save the world. But, the young girl in me is always there. Waste not. There are so many who have so little.

I think of all those who haven’t coffee or a home or any of the multitude of things that I am blessed with. Things. Just things. I wonder…if they need more or if I need less. I suspect the answer to both is yes.

At the heart of it, I admit I would love to have fewer belongings. I would also like others to have less. Less true need that goes unfilled…

If only I could translate my odds and ends into food and clean water and safety for those who struggle on without them. Then perhaps there would be peace of heart for two people…instead of one who owns items which collect dust…and another who has a hungry child…

So, I come back to asking, what is my why. But now, I add a new word. Today. Not the why of forever. Not the why of the whole world. Only the why of this one day in front of me. May I know it when I see it and be ready for whatever it may be. Grant me gentle silence to hear the song, and live the story that plays before me.

Time doesn’t stand still for questions or answers. They are worth wondering over though. There are places and people who do make a difference, even when they don’t know that they do. A single bowl of soup may not feed the world. But, it may open someone’s heart to a lifetime of wondering.

Every year offers a new adventure. Every day holds a new surprise. Every moment carries the seed of a new thought. Time always dances forth in hope to embrace the new.

I don’t know what Bo is dreaming of when he groans. I can only guess. I don’t have the answer to why we’re all here. I can only guess at that too. My guess though, is that it’s the same for all of us…


Clouds have cleared! The sun has come out after a long week of gray skies. How lovely it is to see the future shining brightly before me with hope…

Happy New Years my Dear WordPress Friends!

Thank you for sharing this journey. You are a true delight to me. May each of you have less in the year ahead…so that all the empty places left open may be filled with great love…