The longer I am here, in this body, on this earth – the more past and future fall away – leaving me astonished at the beauty of being right here, right now.
Again and again.
Love fills each space.
Again and again.
With love, always, Mom/Mimi/Toni/Antoinette
Again, I seem to be noticing simple delights more often than not. Such a wonderful story of my life – to be 98 and welcoming a sense of good luck and a lovely decrease in impatience!
Today’s haiku is a playful way of welcoming the sun after days of rain.
Love Always, Mom/Mimi/Toni/Antoinette
The road – a symbol of continuing on; faith in the forces of love and courage to hold us sway. All the way home. Together.
Love always, Mom/Mimi/Toni/Antoinette
Thinking about lighthouses in the storms. How we find our way back home to our common humanity by following the light.
With love always, Mom/Mimi/Toni/Antoinette
Yes! Each day – I wake in wonder. Another day! Subtle variations, which I look for and savor. This is the gift that I un-warp each morning. Gratitude seems to be my theme these days. 
Some days the simplicity and gift of gratitude wakes me up to the bounty of my life.
always with love,
Mom/Mimi/Toni/Antoinette
Small joys of living. Waking and being able to place one’s feet on the floor. My feet remember all the steps they’ve ever taken.
always with love,
Mom/Mimi/Toni/Antoinette
Each morning. New. Possibility. Always….
always with love,
Mom/Mimi/Toni/Antoinette
I’m learning. Still learning. Always learning.
Haiku practice is now my place of resting in – what is.
I keep repeating – 5-7-5 – and trusting the rhythm will become my heartbeat.
always with love,
Mom/Mimi/Toni/Antoinette
According to the calendar we are coasting the curve to Autumn already.
I’l bet you and I are only just getting started to enjoy this delayed season!
So, let it be so, let it be joyous, unplanned, spontaneous, and rich.
Let the words of Mary Oliver give us permission:
“Sixty-seven years, oh Lord, to look at the clouds,
the trees in deep, moist summer,
daisies and morning glories
opening every morning
their small, ecstatic faces —
Or maybe I should just say
How I wish I had a voice
like the meadowlark’s,
sweet, clear, and reliably
slurring all day long
from the fencepost, or the long grass
where it lives
in a tiny but adequate hut
beside the mullein and the everlasting,
the faint pink roses
that have never been improved, but come to bud
then open like little soft sighs
under the meadowlark’s whistle, its breath-praise,
its thrill song, its anthem, its thanks, its
alleluia, Alleluia, oh Lord.”
………………………… MARY OLIVER, quoted in the book,
A Dream of Summer, selected by Robert Atwan, and titled:
While I Am Writing a Poem to Celebrate Summer, the
Meadowlark Begins to Sing.
Open your window early, and take it in.
always with love,
Mom/Mimi/Toni/Antoinette
