Nature & Seasons
Poetry shaped by storms, prairie skies, changing seasons, wild places, and the ways the natural world mirrors what we carry inside.
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A southern breeze becomes a quiet reminder that surviving is not the same as living, and blooming after wildfire requires no apology.
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She never slept; morning simply found her standing at the edge of night while the sky bruised itself into gold.
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Summer leaves the way some loves do: warm on the skin, already fading before you realize it was the last time.
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The ocean lives in her like inheritance—salt, tide, ache, and the pull toward places that feel older than memory.
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Nightly joy arrives in the small things that survive the dark—quiet rooms, warm bodies, and moments no one else sees.
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Ivy, broken windows, a shivering candle, and one old floorboard make an abandoned house feel less empty than the word suggests.
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Only after the stroller is parked and the babies finally sleep does the sky release the storm it seemed to be holding for them.
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A tiny frog in the road becomes a reminder that motherhood teaches the eye to notice fragile lives the world might otherwise pass by.
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A well-loved tortoiseshell beneath a streetlight pauses just long enough to share a little softness before returning to the home she already knows.
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A Manitoba storm gathers over the prairie, turning wind, wheat, lightning, and thunder into something almost alive.
