2016, a scar of poetic beauty, a piercing of joy and sorrow




Dear 2016,

You were a wicked bitch.

Sweet and feral.

Brutal and protective.

Raw and loyal.

Joyful and hopeful.

I was hoping for more lush and less dull thudding pain.

I was wishing for more luminous when what was required was more walking through the dark looking for the hurt places.

Grief was near. This second year without my mom was more real and had her missing from so much.

There was new life with sweet Nora that brought so much joy.

Deep pain, riotous happy.

There was relief from all the testing, growing, learning.

Pink rocks, hills of them on Georgian bay, stunning in their moss speckled beauty. The anniversary of your leaving mom. I was there then walking on them and remembering your endless love.image

I remember the moon that night. A sickle rising above the lake. All the humans sitting and watching as she rose in the pink light of the setting sun. Breathing with them. Life going on.

All the lakes, Superior, Huron, Michigan. Diving into their depths, immersed full body underneath, away and near.

Washed clean, new in her magic, home.

The Lake Superior shore, the heat, the heat and then the wet, cool deep. Frolicking like a seal, sealskin, soulskin. Back in her, beloved in her, found in her.

And the trees, the rocks, the endless forests along the road.

Time out of mind.

Beaches beneath toe and heel, stone sentinels of granite and gneiss. Speckled grey green and blue, peach and pewter. Each one a jewel in the sand. Guardian and guide post.image

Waterfalls and ancient cedars with gnarled roots like Tolkein forests with meandering stone walls marching along the ravines edge. Magic in the very air.


This beauty as real as any pain. This beauty as cutting to the heart. Wrenching open to all of this aliveness.

This leaving its mark, a poetic trail, a scar, inked in beauty on me.

Remembering a year lived in all its complexity, soft and sharp edges. Alive to live it.

Writing down its bones as the year closes not having written all year.

I have no answers as to why when it brings clarity and a settledness to my soul.


2017 you’re here. I want you to be full of wild luminous parties under the moon, Nora walks, girl gangs, new friendships and creative collaborations with other wild minded ones. Perhaps a wander through making and magic and reading tea leaves under the maple tree on chairs like peacocks. Maybe we could all play together in the wild luminous playhouse breathing in enchantment and dreaming while awake.

Life mark me with your poetic paths of memory, your runes of experience and adventure. Your piercings of joy and sorrow so that I know I’m here. I’m alive. I’m a part of it all. The spinning earth, this lush and luminous life. The wet, the dirt, the wild in all of it,


finding myself again in the dark forest under the moon,

love Melissa


My wild luminous life

Wild~ living in a natural state,  not domesticated or tamed. Unruly, extravagant, fantastic and highly enthusiastic.

Luminous ~ to radiate light from within. Fully shedding light, especially in the dark.

I found these words last Fall while visioning about my deep dreams. What I realized is I was rediscovering parts of myself that have always been there but were buried under layers of what I thought I should be to fit in, to be accepted. To be a good daughter, student, wife and mother.

I unearthed so many things I’d forgotten I wanted for myself through all those years of caring for others. My children are  pretty much grown now, though some still live with me at times. It’s time for more of me to emerge now. All the creative work I’ve done in the last few years is all about that. The wanderings through online courses about things as diverse as a woman’s magic making circle and a ‘get your bliss back’ through movement and ayryvedic medicine, writing letters to my sister life and following my wanderlust. Through all this I’ve found my wild luminous life.


I’m exploring it by painting it, drawing it and writing down the bones of it. Expanding the expressive writing of it by forming it into a kind of unruly prose. All really for my own enjoyment and a sense of expressing what it means to be fully alive.

I’m steeping like my favourite chai roobis tea in it.

I’m opening to cinnamon and cardamom spiced knowing

I’m slowly deepening with gingery whispers

I knew once to listen like quiet tender leaves opening, softening to this sweet deep infusion.

If this wild light calls to you maybe we could walk down its ignited path together and tell our stories. For me there’s nothing better than having a starry sister to wander with.

Who knows where our illuminated hearts could lead us? How much wonder do you think we can cup in our open hands, hold in our wild winged souls?