Bits from Freewrites on Retreat


I remember watching Mutual of Omaha with my dad as a little girl frightened by the ferocity of the lioness as she took down her prey. My first death experience.

Bumble Bee. Bee Balm. Blackeye’d Susan. Prayer Flags. Mischief, Bells, Silks, Sparkles and Heart-rocks. Angel. Beach Glass. Color, color, and space. All these speak to me, today. But it is the breathing space and wind. The sound of our lives affected by wind. The rustle of leaves that E. and A. love so much. Like Giggles. And laughter.

Water over rock. Water crashing on rock. Loudly and telepathically I send energy out. Feel this wind. I run the trail between Presque and Wetmore and pause arms outstretched palms resting on trees as I face the surf of Superior.

Today the wind blows past my sore shoulders. I smell pine and hear crickets. And I’ve made space for the wind to blow. I can accept this space. No need to fill it up with expectations or fears. Path’s lead everywhere. I have many to chose from. I can be blown.



About kimnixon

Upper Peninsula Michigan Artist and Writer

Posted on September 21, 2009, in A Runner's World, Abundance, Contours, Holistic Health, Magic Lands, Memory and Memoir, Spiritual and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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