Well it’s that wonderful time of year…AGAIN. December…so suddenly upon us…festively fueled by the elation-infused Yuletide anticipation of sugar plum faeries trolloping amongst figgy pudding while candy cane carolers chortle carols of glee.  Happy happy, joy joy…feeling oh so festive…NOT.

I know…suck it up snowflake and get in the fricking spirit…but honestly this is not my favourite time of year.  While everyone else seems to be decking the halls, trimming the tree and stringing stockings over the fireplace – I find myself a little maudlin, a little more sentimental, a heck of a lot more exhausted and crushingly more contemplative of the past 340 days.  Trust me… it’s a weight worse than the sack of stolen Whoville Christmas presents on top of mount Crumpet…(cue the Grinch).

It’s a tough month. Not just for people like me who feel overwhelmed by the reflection of the year gone by – my accomplishments, mistakes, lessons and wishes; as well as the countdown to the New Year, pondering what’s to come and how to make it better.  It’s a tough month for those without family, for those feeling alone or lonely and not fitting into the Hallmark card.  It’s tough for people on a budget trying to make ends meet. It’s tough for people who are struggling with their health and loss. It’s tough for those craving cranberry and dressing without a turkey in sight.  It’s a tough month. How’s that for a lump of coal in your stocking?

Well fear not my little elves and elvettes, I’ve decided to shift my snowdrift and not hold the holidays hostage this year…and in true Lowry tradition, celebrate the shit out of this season! Because…I have a choice.

I’m saying yes to Christmas.  Yes to gingerbread boys AND men, holiday markets, Christmas concerts, eggnog, tinsel and Turtles (the chewy caramel ones). I’m moving the New Year to next April.  No reflections or resolutions till then. I’m making merry with as many of my peeps as possible and singing Christmas carols every day of December (don’t you dare shhh me.) I’m wearing reindeer antlers on the bus. I’m making stockings for my kittens because it’s their first Christmas and there’s nothing more hysterical than putting cat nip in the toes of a stocking and hanging it out of reach. I’m investing in an ugly Christmas sweater, Christmas lights and I’m going to be naughty and nice! I’m not counting down to the end of the year…I’m counting my blessing every day of this year. I’m looking forward to what 2017 WILL bring.  I’m going to prance around like a sugar plum faerie on mulled wine spreading JOY and creating peace on earth and goodwill to all eligible men, humans and animals.  And if that isn’t enough…I’m giving myself an awesome sauce present – a trip to Bali!  Not to shabby Santa!

So choose to find your spirit – however small or large; let it out, celebrate it, cherish it and share it – because remember Santa’s watching!

And what happened then? Well, in Whoville they say
That the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day!

And then the true meaning of Christmas came through,
And the Grinch found the strength of ten Grinches, plus two!

For those of you who know me, know I like to make up words.  What you may not know…it’s not always been on purpose.  I’ll let you in on a little secret…one of my superpowers is that I am Dyslexic (GAWD that word is hard to spell).

Way back in the olden days, when I was a tot, teachers and parents were not as aware of learning challenges as they are today.  Let’s just say I spent a lot of time in the “special” class.  I struggled with spelling, reading, writing and speaking.  My brain would work at bullet speed but the link from brain to mouth was on sloth mode.  The alphabet was a blur of nonsense. Individual numbers and letters were animated shapes that danced.  Words were unspeakable, impossible to decipher or pronounce. Voices and incessant talking sometimes caused me to zone out to Mars. Instructions or rules like grammar were instantly forgettable and as if that wasn’t enough to make an already super shy kid feel like they were stupid – I also experienced extended hearing…hearing things not actually said…yup voices in my head!  I didn’t feel crazy at all.

Luckily for me I had a very unique and magical Dad who saw my peculiarities as perks. Perks that lead me to hone in and celebrate my own unique way of expressing my observations, ideas and feelings.  Perks that ironically helped me to become a very clever and creative writer (who btw can not spell).  I remember my Dad sitting with me at my tiny desk in a tiny chair teaching me to think with images and feelings. Even today I think with my eyes closed because I can see the pictures better, travel down the corridors on my brain hallways, open the different drawers where the memories and pictures are kept safe and sound.  He also helped me practice saying words by making up rhymes. If (and when) I flubbed them up he’d just tell me to say it with confidence and eventually people would figure it out.  So as the story goes – I’d say tons of words perhaps closely related to what I thought my brain was meaning but they’d come out a little jumbled or completely re-invented.  But gosh darn it – I said them with such confidence that they now exist within the collection of my vocabulary.

Some of my favourite made up words are mash ups, smash ups, completely bastardized or simply redefined….

Benane – the combo of benign and inane – meaning “safely stupid.”

Endolphins – the combo of endorphins and dolphins – meaning “the euphoric release of happiness reminiscent of frolicking dolphins.”

Loviation – “Infusing amplified action into the state of love thus creating an even bigger expression.”

And my all time #1 fave is more of a philosophical belief that inspired me to create an evolved expression of the word “love” because I felt it was being overused and under valued….ex:  I love llamas, I love peanut butter, I love Robert Doweny Jr.  So I decided to take a word that already had a lot of moxie and oomph attached to it and redefine it.  The word I chose was “slut”. I felt sorry for it always having such a bad wrap.  And to up the ante on my new word I set a precedence that it could only be attached to the one single most all encompassing thing you love (or slut for). Only one thing – whether that be butterscotch, llamas or Robert Downey Jr.  For me this one thing is camping (or kamping as I like to spell it) and so the word Kamperslut was born.

So go for it!  I encourage you to think about the one absolute thing you slut for and use it with enthusiasm and confidence!  And….just so you have back up for when you use it… and people look at you like you are insane…my new and improved definition of slut is as follows:

Slut – An extreme intensity of “vanting, needing, must having” that defies and over powers all previous levels defined by humankind and transcends existing degrees of yearning, coveting, impassion, craving, itching, lusting, hungering, thirsting and suspiring for to possess or have.

To slut for something is a deep rooted and spiritual commitment to your inner being that resonates beyond the realm of antiquated language and laws.   It is the epiphanic divine manifestation of a moment of sudden revelation and supernatural essentiality of life.

….and with that said I truly am a Kamperslut!

PS.  My recently published book “How to Live Like a Chipmunk and Other Tips on Living an Awesome Sauce Life” has a glossary at the back for all my made-up Patty-isms!

OMGAWD WHAT A WEEK. Can I please press replay? This was supposed to be my vacation?  My well needed, well deserved vacation.  WTF Happened?

I’ll tell you what… the mille-second I relaxed the lergy of the universe came crashing down like a thousand tons of stone gargoyles writhing upon my vulnerable soul infecting me with a radioactive festering flu and tsunami cold of the century where every single molecule and hair on my body screamed in excruciating pain.  I poured sweat, fever blisters formed around my parched lips, my skin cracked and eyes glued together in pussy pockets of flotsam and jetsam. And that was just Sunday,  Monday I woke to the slicing sound of needle sharp killer kitten nails hooking, carving and scoring across my face….I felt the wetness first, startled by the profusely bleeding gash – I ran to the bathroom to reveal the mark of Zorro (aka Charlie).  Half a bottle of peroxide, a tube of polysporan and a half hour of applying strong pressure…. the bleeding stopped.  Guess I’ll stay up now …it is 7:20 on the first day of my vacation…..then the phone rang and it was my sister telling me she was off to emergency.

I drank apple juice, oregano oil, yogi tea, neo citron, Buckley’s and whisky. I slept and sneezed and tossed and turned in perpetual sweats and dripping nose until my pillow was soaked. Every time I blew my nose I re-opened the kitten slash…eventually giving up on what would become a bulbous infected nose. I was too sick to go visit my sister in the hospital, so stayed closed to the phone with one eye peeled, the other glued shut.

Tuesday was a blur – it was supposed to be my Patty Pamper Day. I had 4 appointments lined up to transform me into the new and improved me – all cancelled.  I do remember throwing up and the toilet over flowing. Sister was stable. Gash mending. Tummy not happy. I stumbled to Shoppers Drug Mart for some pepto bismal, ripple potato chips and Glosset raisons.

Wednesday I had an appointment to get my stitches out from the 6 month ordeal known as “the tree growing out of my leg”.  I was delirious with malaria, typhoid and hoof and mouth disease….but Doctor Coasta was dreamy and this was my last chance…*(I said I was delirious)…so I put make up on only for it to melt off. I took a cab down to the clinic only to realize once I got there I was wearing jeans.  Skinny leg jeans. Skinny leg jeans that were so tight on my calf that I couldn’t roll them up to get to the stitches and had to take them off and sit in my sick day ratty panties.  Kill me now.  Needless to say we didn’t play doctor.  I walked over to the grocery store and bought Kraft Dinner.  I ate the entire box.

In between laying in fetal position on the cold kitchen floor to cool my burning forehead, laying on my back to preserve it from being coughed out of its vertebrae and feeling pretty darn sorry for myself with intermittent displays of stomping, touretting and over all hissy pissy fit tantrums – I heard my Mother’s voice….”it can always be worse”.  I went to spit out the words “shut up” but remember the last time I did that she washed my mouth out with a bar of soup…so instead took a deep breath, opened my eyes to see Sadie at floor level looking at me wondering if she should dial 911…. I said “it’s ok Sadie”.   I sat up and indeed realized it could be way worse.  I was luckily at home, I was lucky to have a floor to lie on!  I had a frig full of comfort food, three nurse cats, and no serious obligations. My stitches were healing and thank Gawd I wore panties that day. We’re lucky to have a medical system, doctors and thankfully my sister was getting better. And although I felt like death warmed over – it was just a juicy Lowry cold that would probably be gone in a few more days. So I made another pot of yogi tea, added in some whisky (thank GAWD for whisky) and went up to my sewing room and cut out a dress and started sewing. (Thanks GAWD for Fabricland).  Alfie was running around on the hamster wheel, the cats were snuggled up together on the bed, my sister was improving and just like that I started to feel better.  It could have been the Buckley’s or the whisky or just a slight shift in my molecules.   Perspective is everything.  Thanks Mum xx

I love monkeys.  A lot.

I love them because they’re probably a distant relative, they’re incredibly curious, mischievous and over the monkey moon cute.  We also have a lot in common – outside of our cuteness…we both love bananas and love to swing in trees. As a totem they symbolize “airy playfulness”and send us a reminder to laugh, be happy, be naughty and play!  Another thing we share is  what Buddhists call “the monkey mind” – a state of being unsettled, restless, indecisive, confused and out of control.  Yikers!

We’ve all been there, focused on one or a dozen obsessive thoughts, going over and over and over it, sometimes even blurting out loud what’s happening in your head (cue monkey screech).  Buddha described it as the human mind being filled with drunken monkeys, jumping around, screeching, chattering and carrying on endlessly. He also identified fear as being an especially loud ferocious monkey banging on a frying pan sounding the alarm to point out all the things that we should be scared of and everything that could possibly go wrong.  Sometimes these monkeys get so out of control, they go on a bender for days and weeks and trigger a really yucky feeling of monkey madness or anxiety.   Been there done that.

Now this Buddha dude was so smart and he also must have really liked monkeys because he knew it there was no point in fighting with the monkeys or even trying to tell them to split the scene – in fact he said we had to make friends with them, give them some space and give them something else to do in order for them to calm the fuck down. (My words, not Buddha’s). His trick was to simply spend some time each day being still in quiet meditation and tell those rambunctious monkeys to focus on your breathing (instead of obsessing about bananas) and over time the monkeys would become more tame. Awe monkey Zen.  Easy peasy right!?  NOT!  Trust me… take this from a Type A energizer bunny that would schedule her first meditation class as TIME TO FUCKING RELAX and proceeded to twitch her way in a Tourette-like fit over the 20 minutes of tortuous OM.  Learning to be still, to breathe and train my monkey mind was probably one of the most difficult lessons I embarked upon…but I stuck with it because taking a breath beats the bullets of anxiety.

Now I am a breathing machine! I make it part of my every day, I take it with me wherever I go…on the way to the bus stop, in a crowed store or during a stressful day at work.  Anytime, anywhere I can take just a few minutes with my monkeys and breathe.  I still love my monkeys…they keep me playful and engaged… but sometimes you just need to get them off your back.  Take a breath … just in and out – it will change your health, calm your mind and ease your spirit.

When I was just a wee lass my Dad use to tell me “Patrick…they sure broke the mould when you were born kid”…I wasn’t sure what he meant but I figured as long as I wasn’t the one who broke it, then that was a good thing.  As I got a little older and my quirky personality blossomed, he’d smile and say, “Kiddo…you are not of this world…you must have been born on a star.”  I liked that idea because stars sparkled.  When I got to the age of going to school that’s when I realized or I was told I wasn’t normal.  The kids made fun of me, teased me and some even pushed me around.  I remember running home crying; feeling like my soul was stolen. I just couldn’t grasp this notion of normal.  I went straight to my room grabbed Holly Hobby, Mervin and Beanja-boobala and went into my magic closet.  It was my place, where nothing yucky could get you.  Later that night when Dad got home from work, I heard our secret knock on the closet door. I opened it and he crept in; “What’s the matter my little flower? Rough day at the office?”  I burst into tears, falling into his freckled arms blabbering a snot-infused soliloquy of drivelling angst and heartbreak only a very dramatic five year old could muster…“They said I wasn’t normal Dad!”  And before I could even snuffle back a juicy snort of sorrow he responded “Well congratulations honey bunny!  Who the heck would want to be normal?  Normal is a setting on a washing machine – YOU my little spark of magic are a rainbow.”

I was so lucky to be born into a family that encouraged my uniqueness. I was especially blessed to have a parent-in-crime that rallied around my peculiarities and made them into my super powers.  Quirky was the new cool. Being average was for dullards. Acting typical and predictable was snoresville central.  Dad infused my imagination with uber effervescent sparkle and possibility. He taught me to look at the world with wide-open kaleidoscopic eyes while wearing rose coloured glasses.  He told me to look into the cracks, see the shadows and trust in the invisible (the faeries in the chandelier are real).  He told me every single thing has a soul and needs to be loved and respected – from big fat boulders and tiny little pebbles to trees, weeds (especially dandelions), bugs and of course animals – whom when spoken to not only understand you but will be your friend for life.  He also told me I was beautiful – especially when wearing rainbow socks with my fun fur fuchsia jumper and happy face t-shirt with wildly abandoned curls that had never seen a hair product in their life.  I was a “chip off the old block” and proud of it.

Being different…awkward, a geek, a freak, a weirdo, not normal was the best thing that ever happened to me. It was an enormous gift of self, a free pass to be me, think outside the confines of conventionality and live to extreme exceptionality.   So whatever makes you an original – cherish it, celebrate it and shine your light bright.

Thanks Pinkie.

When I was 21 years young I went to work for Club Med in Guadeloupe as a G.O. (Gentil Organisateur).  A “G.O.” is the ambassador of the Club Med spirit and upholds the company’s values.  In addition to our professionalism – it was a way of being, a way of creating moments of happiness for the guests.  We were in charge of creating a bond. We rallied as a team because the notion of solidarity meant something – we believed in “better together”. Our job description: “to spread joy by combining the right attitude and the gumption to rise to the challenge of self-revelation.”  Sound like anyone you know?

Working for Club Med changed my life. It gave me the extraordinary adventure my soul required to become who I was meant to be.  Previous to arriving I had spent almost a year recovering from a broken back (but that’s another story).  To celebrate my recovery, my girlfriend’s and I took a vacation to a Club Med resort and within a day I knew I wanted to quit my life and work there.  I spent over 6 months applying to get an interview which were held just twice a year and had openings for only 40 spots to be filled from Canada. Every week I sent crazy letters, cards, photos, videos of me making bikini angels in the snow to get a chance.  I got the call, I got the interview and I got the job – a week later I was on a plane for Guadeloupe. Up until that moment I had lived at home, never travelled, my parents in fact forbid me to go on this ridiculous beach bum lark stating I had a great job as a secretary and it was sure to ruin my life. Needless to say, I quit my job; I defied my parents and stood up for what I knew I had to do for myself.

Now my experience working for Club Med is an entire book in itself…but what went through my head this past week were two things.  One – trusting your gut and following your heart…ok that’s two things in one.   If I hadn’t pushed myself and trusted the unknown I may still be a secretary. Secondly – the notion of choosing joy and being a cheerleader…Opps I did it again – that’s two things!

At Club Med we were joy spreaders.  We were there 24/7 round the clock to make sure everyone was having the time of their lives.  There was a chant that we would lead the entire resort in every night to close off the show…you may have heard it before, but it goes like this: “Hands up baby, hands up, gimme your heart, gimme gimme your heart gimme gimme all your love” …it had hand gestures and dance steps to go along with the song.  It was rally cry to get everyone in the spirit, to create a coming together, to engage, to let loose, celebrate life, and make a joyful noise.  It was empowering and silly and uniting and energizing and it was contagious.  I remember the first few nights the guests would start off slowly, some hesitating with a meek and mild rendition, but by the end of their weeks’ vacation it was an all-out mad house of love and joy.  I carry this experience with me at all times. It is how I choose to be in the world. To be joyful, to celebrate, to lead a pack of hooligans in hand waving freedom of spirit. To be myself, to stand up for myself, to stand up for others and spread joy with abandonment.  So skip, sing out loud, give compliments, say have a great day, be friendly, be inclusive, be a team whether it’s between one or a thousand and choose joy – it’s a wonderful way to live!

Hands up baby!

So last week I was happy (and I still am this week) but man oh man do I every feel like I need a good rant…you know just let go of a few mumbling, festering, pestering, itching, scratching, bubbling on the tip of my tongue gotta be said for the love of GAWD so I can be free again and continue to skip in my happy place….prepare for lift off!

Please move to the back of the bus.  There is no reason to conglomerate in a sweaty tight mass of baby carriages, back packs, and shopping carts within the first 2 feet of the bus ESPECIALLY when there are 30 feet of free space just a few steps ahead of you.  And when I ask ever so nicely “hey friends, can you please take a few steps back” and you ignore me, so then I have to get my Monster Voice on and growl at you like a herd of deaf water buffalos – to please move your butts or else I will have to push through you all, and lead by example.  Thank you TTC…you are now free to go on your merry better way.

Hello over-flowing toilet at 3am in the morning…while I am still in a zombie –like state of dopiness.  Why after over 5 years of living with you did you all of a sudden decide now would be a good time to flush me up with a rebellious tsunami of disgusting water rising at the speed of a flash flood?  What am I supposed to do first?  Save my fur children from impending drowning? Put my clothes in case I slip, fall and bash my head and have to be found naked? Shall I run downstairs and tear apart the cardboard barrier to the basement (aka kitten death chamber) in search of a plunger and bucket while your waves overflow onto my floor?   Or maybe I’ll just wiggle that thingy in your tank and pray to the toilet GAWD for a miracle.   Oh blessed thingy be.   Thanks to my co-worker the next morning for the 101 on over flowing toilets and bringing my attention to the turn off valve.

Excuse me please but I would like to share a lesson in etiquette with those people who have not have the good fortune to be schooled in the manners of class, courtesy and civil breeding.   When asking someone to extend the consideration of a favour – especially one of due absurdity…it is wise to preface your proposal with “please”….otherwise there is a gosh darn good chance of some not so polite repartee coming your way. Bless you.

And finally…gentlemen of the online dating forum….when writing your profiles of grandeur (and delusion), it may be wise to consider your truth.  Even though you are dashingly handsome, can write like Cyrano de Bergerac, have every single considerable thing in common with my wish list…the fact that you live in the woods as a squatter in Toronto might be something you want to share upfront before I fall madly in love with you.  WTF…you live in a tent?

Ahhh  that feels so much better!  World…carry on!

I conducted a little experiment last week. I decided I was going to be happy if it killed me; and I was going to make this happen by being happy.  As my Mum use to say “happy is as happy does”. I focused on this goal and took every opportunity to think happy thoughts, say happy words, be aware of happy moments, sing to the birds, chat with the squirrels and even be friendly to grumpy TTC drivers!  And if ever in my day I was faced with the choice to be frustrated, angry, sad or mad – I chose happy!   I was so fricking happy I was giddy!

All giggles aside…I am serious. This little experiment turned into a really big revelation.  Ready?  When you’re focused on happiness you can’t help but be happy!  Ta Da!!!!  Ok now we all know I’m no Pollyanna Doris do good – I’ve got my moods and swords, but after a few rounds in the “beat me up and down for the count ring”, I really wanted to shift my paradigm. I made a conscious effort (aka pinky swore) that from the second I rolled out of bed and put my feet on the floor I’d smile, then I’d tell my three adorkable fur kids I loved them, smother their perfect little faces with kisses and scratch their bums. Then I would squeal in a high pitch kitten voice “who wants breakfast?” as the four of us tumbled down the stairs in elation I broke into singing the “yummy yummy in my tummy breakfast song”, which changes daily depending on what flavour of kitten food we are trying, but in case you want to try it on your fur kids or small humans, it goes like this:  “ Oh yummy yummy in my tummy tummy – super yummy delish chicken and gravy morsels are going into your perfect potbelly tummy” sung to the tune of Paradise by the Dashboard Lights. I know – I’m talented.  So test one – success!  Conscious happiness works on cats!

Next humans!  I left my house, admired my beautiful fall kissed garden, listened to the birds and said hey to a local squirrel and got instant affirmation that my local wildlife were digging the happy vibe!   My next experiment – bus stop people – da da da dum.  As I arrived at the bus stop the usual grumpola suspects were frowning and moaning in unison, then a guy rode up on his bike and was waiting for the light. He looked at me (probably cause I’m kinda cute) and I blurted out “well aren’t you just the happy bike guy”.  He looked at me as though I was crazy, so to comfort him that I indeed was not crazy – I repeated myself “you know it’s a beautiful day, you’re on your bike, you have a great smile – I just thought you should know!”   Honest – I wasn’t trying to pick him up – I was just sharing some happiness.  Then he took his foot off the pedal and looked right at me and said something that just explodiated my heart.  He said “thank you, you’re right, it is a beautiful day…I’ve just been so sad for so long I forgot to notice. Thank you so much for that, it really made my day”.  And he gave me a big smile and rode off.  Gosh that made me happy!

Give it a try. Being nice, being thoughtful, being generous, being kind, being happy is really quite easy and when you share it…it comes back tenfold.

Have a happy day xx

Thanks giving.  Giving thanks.  Either way you slice the turkey it’s about being grateful for all the blessings, lessons, giggles, jiggles and wiggles we have in our lives. And not just because it’s the big bird day, or it’s the polite thing to do; it’s about being aware every day and in every way to see and think about our lives in a gosh darn holy shit we are fricking lucky…even when life isn’t perfect (imagine that).

Being grateful puts everything in perspective. Like my Mum said – “it can always be worse”. Feeling gratitude helps us to focus on what we have, not what we don’t and creates a playing field of deep understanding, appreciation and humility…all which lead to being happy ( and man oh man am I ever grateful for that!).  Being grateful is also a conscious choice – to choose not to complain but instead be satisfied, to look at the bumps as lessons, to see our experiences as gifts and not take them for granted and most importantly realize the value that every day brings. Once we start to see the vastness of our lives, the fortune of our possessions, the magic in moments, the feasts on the table, friends in our circle, opportunities in our path – we begin to see just how good we got it.

So count your blessings. Literally. Write them down every day, say thanks to the TTC bus driver – even if he’s snarky.  Say thanks the chill of fall and grab your favourite sweater; say thanks to the gorgeous flavour of buttertarts and the softness of Sadie’s insanely fluffy fur!  Say thank you bumps and bruises – you make me stronger and give a big fat shout out of thanks to those who test you and push you – for they help you to realize that even in the dark there are pockets of light.

So without further adieu…Just saying thanks!

Thank you for my health, mind, imagination, creativity, family & friends, Angus, Pagan, Charlie, Sadie & Alfie; my senses, laughter, hope, trust; my home and cottage, my job & coworkers; the ability to travel, the Zen of sewing, puttering in gardens, playing with squirrels, chipmunks, birds & bugs, thank you for ample food and water; for extraordinarily delish food and whisky, wine & plain ripple chips. Thank you for freedom, peace, democracy, magic,  nature, my river, forests, faeries; friends who drive me places, perfect blue steak, birds singing, lady bugs, dragonflies, and even toads.  Thanks you sunny day with a crisp fall nip in the air, Freddy the squirrel eating his peanuts and chattering back with thanks.  My harvest is so full.

It’s that time of year. The time I have to say so long to summer and all my forest friends in my magic woods.  It’s bittersweet; but they need to rest as do I. We need to harvest the moments, give thanks and crawl under the blanket of winter to sleep and awake again next spring.

The river will slow down, the moss will collect; the trees will shed colourful tears as the earth is adorned in ornaments of decay. The forest sways to the bitter kiss of wind’s farewell. My furry and feathered friends enjoy a last hurrah as they reap their harvest for a long winter’s keep.

It’s time to go. The veil is being lowered. Sweet dreams faerie friends, I will tuck you close to my heart so you won’t be far.

Nature’s Voice

She has a voice.
Sweet and serene.
It rustles her canopy and warms her footing,
It plays with ripples and rocks, while dancing in the light of her moon.

A cheer for the new day.
A prayer for the end of a season.
Songs of birth and sorrow.
Hear her whisper and scream.
Give audience to her laughter and longing.

A conversation with one or many, who choose to listen.
A secret language, spoken one breath at a time.
Nature’s native tongue.
Listen closely for it is music to your soul.