A is for Apple I made this hand-painted watercolor alphabet book for my grandson, Jonah. Several people asked if I would make it available for people to buy. I'm very excited to offer this book for sale. It would make a perfect gift for the young children in your life. You can order it at this link: A is for Apple

Blurred Boundaries

I trust the waves, the water, the pulse of love; I trust the boundaries breached, peace and passion moments, calm intruding, spaces blooming into liminal space. I trust their blending, the unknown, the what-is surprises, the blank canvas of the fearful future, the playful pause that brings me home again. Connections in and out. I trust the waiting and the leading the waiting brings. I want to emerge with my boundaries just a little blurred, fuzzy lines and bleeding love. I want to fade into wave and wave blending. I want to emerge with my eyes wide open to the blurred boundaries, wet all, water spreading. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Still the Birds Sing

The bug looks like a small black Volkswagen driving in circles on the wooden railing; suddenly, a flying car. The birds sing and the wind blows and the sun shines and the dandelions grow in the recently cut grass; yellow dots pock the green grass. A female cardinal swoops to the bird feeder, then a finch, reds and browns and grays and seed debris drops down, and the birds sing, melodious. The sky milks blue and clouds float and branches sway from the trees. The birds multitudinous sing antiphonally--           call, response, recall. Light shadows the ground. Still the birds sing. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Foundational Knowing

The sacred vows of those who go before reach their roots deep into the earth, foundational knowing, like the oak tree, tall; her shade covers the yellow dandelions randomly growing in the green grass. I am the dandelion, blown about and random, covered by the mottled darkness, protection from the noonday sun, the only sky I know. I wait for the next gust of wind with my hands clenched, eyes shut, but face turned toward the sun. Bravery close up. In the winter of life, all we have left is our self-respect. It is enough. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Alone is Enough

Alone is enough. My ego wants more, but she is never satisfied --           miserable master. Alone is enough. Opening my heart to love is enough. Sending out love is enough. Being here, now, is enough. You are enough. I am enough. Everything changes. Cells replace every seven years. Seasons change. Moments change into hours and years;           lifetimes. Lives change --           swap death for new life.           Matter changes. Alone is enough. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Letter to my future self

I didn't think this storm would ever end, but, in the end, it was just like all the other storms of life, louder perhaps, deafening really. Some people died, some unexpectedly, some jobs were lost. Were you surprised by the urban dustbowl mentality? Some necessary things weren't. Wounds festered openly. Surprising connections held. Some egos lost, after a time. Some courage remained. Terror and boredom, the have-have not divide widened. We became our brothers' keepers. I wonder. Yet, the lizards lay in the sun and the birds still sing. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Tree Time

I am in tree time now, days fade into days of rising and falling rhythms, greening strong and tall. I am the branches blowing in the breeze, warmed by the sun, rooted in the foundations of the earth. I reach for the light, I search my roots for the source of life, I am nest for the birds. The wind creates a musical backdrop to their songs, and I sway to invisible time. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020