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The Canary Poet
Storm The sky is raging, weeping. A hummingbird perches on the topmost branch of a wilted Japanese maple. She forgoes the feathery shelter of the towering cedars next to her, and instead dives toward the glass feeder hung a few branches below. Dive, feed, return, rest. A whole morning she keeps this beat, weathering the…
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Black Forest Croissants and a Dog Named Noodle
Either way, anger is a powerful catalyst but a life-sucking companion. Brené Brown, Braving the wilderness I. Black Forest Croissants Black Forest cube croissants. That was the singular thought in my head, framed in a sparkling sense of purpose, as I woke to my morning alarm’s piercing blare. I had been coveting one of these…
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Welcome to My Pocket Oasis
There was a time when writing was a revered art form: a living channel that connected hearts harmonious in spirit but separated, perhaps, by time and space. Free from the automated and monetized entrapments of life in the Digital Age, writing was simply an outlet for the natural instincts of human creativity, a way to…
The Canary Poet 