"Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens." (Carl Jung)
Under the Cherokee Moon



October - Month of the Harvest Moon

I Recommend and Use

On The Nightstand
  • Blue Horses: Poems
    Blue Horses: Poems
    by Mary Oliver
  • The Homing Instinct: Meaning and Mystery in Animal Migration
    The Homing Instinct: Meaning and Mystery in Animal Migration
    by Bernd Heinrich
  • Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants
    Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants
    by Robin Wall Kimmerer
  • Sacred Wilderness
    Sacred Wilderness
    by Susan Power

Do Stones Feel?


Do stones feel?

Do they love their life?

Or does their patience drown out everything else?


While I walk on the beach I gather a few

white ones, dark ones, the multiple colors.

Don't worry, I say, I'll bring you back, and I do.


Is the tree as it rises delighted with its many


each one like a poem?


Are the clouds glad to unburden their bundles of rain?


Most of the world says no, no, it's not possible.


I refuse to think to such a conclusion.

To terrible it would be, to be wrong.


(Mary Oliver, Blue Horses)



"Listen to the trees as they sway in the wind. Their leaves are telling secrets. Their bark sings songs of olden days as it grows around the trunks. And their roots give names to all things. Their language has been lost, but not their gestures."
-Vera Nazarian


“Walking is the perfect way of moving if you want to see into the life of things. It is the one way of freedom. If you go to a place on anything but your own feet you are taken there too fast, and miss a thousand delicate joys that were waiting for you by the wayside.” 
― Elizabeth von Arnim

Fall Song

Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,

the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back

from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere

except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle

of unobservable mysteries - roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This

I try to remember when time's measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn

flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay - how everything lives, shifting

from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.

(Mary Oliver)


Native to my Blood

'There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood—
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.” 
― Bliss Carman

A Sense of Place

“I remember my childhood names for grasses and secret flowers. I remember where a toad may live and what time the birds awaken in the summer -- and what trees and seasons smelled like -- how people looked and walked and smelled even. The memory of odors is very rich.” 
― John Steinbeck