Finally, it’s time to heal.

Mentally and physically, I believe the intensity of my pain from the past year is behind me, but the wounds are still open, exposed. Or rather, the small tears in my Achilles heel are still-rebuilding. It’s time to cocoon, to rest, to protect the wounds- both in nature and in my healing hut. It’s time to let my wounds close.

Both physically and mentally, I’ve just been tired.

Physically, I’m tired of limping around post hike and of giving the extra mental effort to manage the discomfort. (To be clear, I am very much a proponent of listening to the body, and I did experience periods of decreasing symptoms that gave me hope. I did very little running and hiked most of the summer. When I got the MRI results in mid-August, I knew I wasn’t going to make anything worse by hiking a few more mountains, and my intuition felt good with the decision to wait to rest, as my soul needed to be above tree line). Physically, the biggest feeling I have is that, more than anything, I simply just ready to run freely and joyfully next year.

Mentally, I’m ready to be re-energized and have my open, wild heart back at full capacity. While experiencing the fullness of my emotions has been a worthwhile endeavor, doing so repeatedly over the past year because of situation I put myself in, had been nothing but exhausting. Obviously as a therapist, I’ve done a lot of inner work. I was simply unprepared for the amount of work I still had to do. I believe that a person was sent into my life, unknowingly, lovingly, and crushingly, to expose my deepest wounds. This forced me to use all my therapy tools to re-parent myself in the most nurturing and loving way possible (I am determined to be a therapist who practices what I preach). I didn’t exactly have to start from scratch- my parents truly are wonderful people- they simply didn’t know what to do with my big emotions as a kid. Which meant that, without realizing it, I had taken on many of the “tough love” practices I grew up with, and then enhanced them in not the kindest of ways.

I had to learn to feel, truly feel, all of my emotions. To show up for them. To show up for me. To learn how to self soothe. To say things to myself like “I got you. You’re okay.” “I will not abandon you.” “I love you.”

I don’t know if the hard journey I took was the only way. And I can hold no hate in my heart for the person who exposed my wounds. I believe that person’s own wounds were so deep that they didn’t even know they were running. What I do know is that once I heal from this, I’ll truly have the capacity to be the best, most stunning version of myself.

While I can feel my wounds starting to close, I also know I’m tired. As any athlete knows, the only way to re-build and recover is to rest. And the only way to heal is to give yourself the compassion and grace to do so.


Thoughts on PRP and other physical healing modalities…

I ended up choosing PRP (platelet rich plasma injection), a form of regenerative medicine, because I knew my body could use the extra boost to heal after having chronic Achilles pain for so long. I also liked the fact that it was still my own body doing the healing, and I trusted my PT who suggested it.

For most people, PRP wouldn’t be my first choice, for several reasons. One, it’s expensive. Two, it’s extremely (to say it lightly) uncomfortable. I also think there are other great modalities out there, and obviously I’ll put PT exercises at the forefront. Then there’s dry needling (one of the few alternative forms of treatment accepted by SOME insurance companies), massage, and EPAT/shockwave therapy (among others I’m not as familiar with). I actually tried shockwave in the summer, and I actually think it would have had a chance at working if it wasn’t summer and I wasn’t climbing mountains every week. Shockwave, and with some doctors PRP*, are advertised as treatments where you can return to activity as normal immediately. And aren’t those the magic words we all want to hear? Maybe its true for more minor injuries, but my opinion, from my own experience, is that its a bit of marketing scam. I mean, if your body is in pain, doesn’t it make sense to just rest for at least a little bit? With that, I think PRP and the field of regenerative medicine is pretty cool and promising.

*My PT doc said that when I got PRP, I would absolutely have to take time off, and this is largely what I had read. I was more than a little surprised when the doctor performing the PRP said I could return to activity right away…especially when I’ve barely been able to run anyway. While I really liked by that doctor and trusted her to do the PRP, I think the center I went to was a little overly liberal in their treatment approaches (my sister actually received a cortisone shot in her Achilles years earlier by one of the other doctors there, which really isn’t a best practice for an Achilles tendon as it can cause further damage). I’ll just round this paragraph out by saying that its extremely important to me to have a team around me that is caring, listens, and are trustworthy. At this point in my life I’ve learned to say no when I disagree with someone’s opinion. With that, I got the PRP, and I’m 100% going to take the month plus off that I 100% know my body needs to heal and then return to running very slowly.

My final note here is that we all have our own healing journeys. There are many paths to choose from, and whatever we choose, it will be the best (created) path for us. Whatever specialist you see, they will most likely agree that their specialty is the correct one. I would actually highly trust any doctor who tells you “no”. For example, the doctor I saw for shockwave finally said she didn’t want to do another treatment and then sent me to get an MRI, and I’m so grateful for her. She finally made me realize I truly needed to stop running and hiking to heal. On the other hand, if I went to see a surgeon, I can almost guarantee you they would have done surgery. (Not my path.) Similarly, several years ago a surgeon was ready to perform surgery on a labrum tear* and hip dysplasia, also telling me I’d eventually need surgery on my hamstrings. I didn’t have pain, I just didn’t feel like I had full control of my leg. I had the strongest feeling that surgery was not the right path for me (though it still took me some time to listen to that feeling, even when I cried during the MRI). But my sister’s good friend and great runner recently did have surgery for her labrum tear, and I 100% know she choose the right path for her (and I apologize to her for being another person to give my opinion on the matter, rather than just supporting her in trusting her inner knowing.). In short, get several opinions, but come back to trusting your gut. And don’t bypass the healing power of rest.

*The research on labrum tears, at least in the hips, is extremely mixed. Some people experience pain, and some people have no symptoms at all.

Estes Park: Live Life like a (Conscious) Tourist

Over the past four years, I’ve been blessed to call Estes Park home. Choosing to leave has been a process of grief, learning how to distinguish intuition from fear, and then finally, of gratitude.

Among many things, Estes Park has taught me how to “life life like a (conscious)* tourist”, to slow down, to be in awe of everything around me (and take a million pictures), and to truly enjoy “traffic” jams (aka. elk in the middle of the road)… those times life just asks you to stop. To stop, so there’s nothing else you can do but to contemplate how painfully beautiful life is.

Every time I’ve gotten a little annoyed at being stuck in a quarter of a mile long line at the grocery store or when a jeep tour drives up my road while I’m trying to peacefully walk with Pacer, that feeling has always been quickly replaced gratitude when I remember “…and I am lucky enough to live here. A town where everyone else only gets to come for vacation.”

Estes Park is surely not an easy town to leave. I still believe it has some, if not the best, 13ers and lakes in the state. And my counseling clients (many of who I will continue to see online)…well they all have places in my heart. While there has been grief in this choice I made, right now I much rather celebrate my time in Estes Park with some things I’ve learned living in a tourist town.

*I’m obviously not going to try to pet an elk, park in the middle of the road, or use 20+ plastic bags from Safeway in one trip.

Here are my tips on “How to Live Life like a Tourist”:

-Stop at the first sign into town and take a picture because you’re so excited about the day ahead. Really. Commemorate each day you’re alive by bringing enthusiasm into the day. There are adventures, big and small, ahead of you.

-If caught in traffic, whether from elk or other tourists, take it as extra time to gaze in wonder at the beauty of the mountains. Remember that everyone else in traffic is simply trying to experience the magic too. (And if you’re running late, remember it’s your own fault for not taking the tourist traffic, that you 100% know is going to be there, into account …but still driving the speed limit because there may wildlife trying to cross the road. Then still using one of those reasons as an excuse as to why you’re late.) (Okay, okay, that may be a local… or just a personal piece of advice.)

-When feeling overwhelmed by the amount of people in the tiny downtown, focus in on the good. People are outside enjoying themselves and time with their families. Tune in to their happiness. That family eating ice cream together on a winter day…that image will be one in your memory almost as long as the view of Hallet’s Peak.

-When hiking, even if you only making it to the first lake a quarter mile up the trail, be as excited as if you hiked 5 miles to get there. Celebrate with the elders, people with disabilities, and those people out of their comfort zone just being outdoors, who rarely get to witness such stunning scenery.

-Do all of the “tourist things”, because they are truly fun to do: Sssllooowwllyy drive up Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park, play with the chimes on the walking path leading into town, ride the mountain coaster, take pictures of the elk (even though they are everywhere), try all of the restaurants with a vegan option, get a selfie with the statue of Enos Mills and his pup, slowly sip your coffee at InkWell and stock up on greeting cards for the next 6 months, and go into all the Christmas stores downtown (maybe, or maybe not, skipping the taffy stores…is taffy even real candy?).

-Be thankful (and patient) when people stop at the “yield” signs, rather than actually yielding. They are just being extra safe and trying to make town more pedestrian friendly.

-When leaving town, make sure to glance one more time out the rear view mirror and be grateful for the amazing time you had. The day may be over, but each moment you spent in the mountains and with loved ones will be ingrained into the DNA of your soul.


In the end, we’re truly all just tourists, in these human bodies, on this physical plane. We could despair at this thought, of the impermanence of it all, but wouldn’t the better option be to choose joy? To be in such deep, deep gratitude that we get this experience, in such a miraculous place, with so many interesting people, that we simultaneously want to cry, laugh, and scream in excitement?

Many Deaths

In a lifetime, if we are lucky,
we experience many deaths.

The seasons tell us so.
The calendar, death’s creation.

And each spring, a rebirth.
Unless you try to resist-
but then you’ll never grow…
Just bitter with resentment.
Choose to die, and you’ll blossom.

For a lifetime, many defy what makes us human.
What makes us alive.
But there is no greater loss than a life unlived,
or better preparation for the next adventure.


Letting go is scary.
Where will I fall?
From the quote on my wall comes to me the voice of poet E.H….
but what if I fly?

Just as the voices of Helen Keller and Mary Oliver came to me earlier in the week:
“Life is is either a daring adventure or nothing.” (Helen Keller)
” Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
These are the voices of the women who inspire me the most.
Dare I join their ranks?
Dare I not?

They must have felt scared at times too.
Wondered if they chose the right direction.
Asked “Is this the right path?”
And then made it so.

Bravery is the step you take when feeling scared.

I want to be brave.
I am brave.

Not fear and rationalities aside…they sure as hell are still inside of me. In my gut, spinning around in my head. But deeper than the fear in my gut is a tiny voice and a choice to trust my Higher Self.

“I (and Pacer) will be okay.” says my Intuition.

Adventure awaits…
You simply must be ready to spread your wings when it comes calling.

Adventuring with Your Pup

Running with you Pacer/Pup Series

(From an Instagram series for Higher Running)

Running with your dog can add infinite amounts of joy to an already joyous activity.  But there are few more responsibilities and things to consider when running with your favorite pacer.  Here are Coach Ray & Coach Pacer’s top tips!

1.It’s Your Dogs Run/Adventure

 Our number one rule when running with your dog is simple:  It’s your dog’s run.  If your dog isn’t into the run that day, you turn and go home.  If the dog doesn’t want to scramble to the top of the mountain, you turn and go home.  It’s that simple, and probably obvious too.  But sometimes our egos get in the way.  Your job as a human is to rise above that ego (and Instagram photo) and remember how much you love your dog.  

2. Water

Anytime in the summer and anytime you’re on a new route, we recommend you fill up with water.  Anytime Pacer and I run in the desert or canyons, I’m going in with a full hydration reservoir.  In the summer, it can be helpful to look at maps to see if there are creek crossings, but you can’t always trust them.  It’s always good to have a water filter with you too just in case, as you’ll go through water quickly if you’re carrying for two, regardless if your pup finds a stream to jump in.  

3.  Leash

We really love the leash belts.   While not perfect for running form, it’s better than having one arm being pulled out.  If possible, have the belt/leash rest below your waist.  It’s likely not going to stay there, especially if you have a pup like Pacer who’s going to try and fly down hill and pull you like a kite.  In that case, let the leash be a reminder to keep a neutral pelvis.  If you are on a trail that allows off-leash dogs, have full voice command over your dog and you might want to put your dog back on leash if you see a pup with a leash on. For people and dogs who have been chased by dogs before, it can be scary to see an off-leash dog running towards them, no matter how friendly the pup.  If you’re not on an off-leash trail, please respect the rules. They are there for a reason and are really there for the love of all dogs, animals, nature, and people.  Pacer and I live in the mountains, and it always amazes me to see people who let their dogs off-leash when the area is prone to elk, mountain lions, bears, and moose.  

4.  Long mountain adventures with your pup

There is nothing more Pacer and I love than spending a day in the mountains together.   But there is more to think about when heading out.  One thing I’ve learned to always carry with me are dog booties.  If you’re on a mountain that is rocky, I’d put them on early.  I’ve had a hard time forgiving myself for the times one of Pacer’s paw pads ripped and it could have been prevented.  After trying several types of booties over many years, we finally settled on a simple cloth booty, used by mushing dogs.  They are fairly inexpensive and stay on better than the more expensive booties.  For summer mountains, Mountain Ridge has a “tough boots” option made out of a durable fabric.  Last year, I also finally bought a dog rescue harness (Fido Pro Airlift), mainly for peace of mind.  I don’t always take it with us, but truly, it’s better just to be okay with carrying a little extra weight into the mountains.  Finally, if I’m unsure of the route and it’s a big distance, I’ll see if another human friend can go with us.  Last year, on the “Pacer’s Big Day” 14er route (Redcloud, Sunshine, and Handies- 19.6 miles, 7,831ft of gain), “Aunt” Sandi came with us.  Aunt Sandi also always brings extra treats for Pacer, which Pacer says is also important to have on long mountain adventure days.

(We also have a Garmin inReach for additional safety.)

Confidence in the Wild

(I originally shared this on my Instagram page, which is private simply because I’m a mh therapist and am ethically not supposed to have client’s follow me, but my sister asked me to share it. Which, since this blog is also about Pacer, means I follow up this post with my tips for adventuring with your dog.)

At the beginning of summer, I had wanted to do a series for Higher Running on wilderness safety in the backcountry because I’ve heard so many people, especially women, say they want to get out but it feels too scary to go out alone.  For me, that’s really sad to hear…that people who want to aren’t getting out into sacred, healing spaces.

Since I’m just now writing this post in August, I’ll skip the series but highlight a few important things, namely, the role of fear. (Also, TrailSisters.net has a ton of great articles on women’s safety.) First, we’re scared of the wilderness because most of us grew up so disconnected from it. One of the biggest lies we’ve been taught is that nature is something separate from ourselves. From a psychological perspective, fear is located in the primal part of our brain.  Its design is to keep us alive, but it is not meant to keep us from living. When we hear about a person being attacked by a mountain lion, or a woman being assaulted during a trail run or hike, our brains highlights the experience as a way to protect us…which again, isn’t a bad thing. We just don’t want the fear to override our prefrontal cortex (thinking part of the brain) unless we’re truly under attack (which is what the survival response is designed for).  Both of the aforementioned situations are awful and not to be taken lightly (especially female runner’s safety in general), but we’re much less likely to be physically attacked* on the trail than the news and our brains would like us to think. In short, keep that spidey-instinct, just don’t be overrun by fear.  

What does that look like?  Personally, I tend to venture into the mountains with my dog alone quite often.  I do take a tiny drop of fear with me, which helps keep me aware of my surroundings.  That little bit of fear has caused me to educate myself and take safety precautions, like knowing what to do if a moose does charge and buying a Garmin inReach.  My risk tolerance is also relatively low compared to other people I know (I won’t climb on highly exposed routes-without a rope, which I don’t have the skill for- or go into avalanche territory)…and I am 100% okay with that.  But I love going really, really far into remote areas.  Be secure in yourself (not ego-driven) and your decisions.

Here are some general suggestions for increasing your wilderness knowledge and confidence:

– Research what to do if you end up closer to a bear, moose, mountain lion, etc. than you wanted to.  

-Research cloud patterns (bailing on a route is always okay) and what to do if you see lightning.

Take a wilderness first aid course (NOLS has a lot of offerings, especially in Colorado)

-Get out first with people who know what they’re doing (not just runners who like to go light), even if you use a guiding service. (Because I was in the wilderness therapy program at Naropa, most of my professors were also wilderness guides.)

-Buy the safety equipment that makes you feel comfortable (Garmin InReach, bear spray, knife, etc).

-Take baby steps.  A little uncomfortable equals growth, too uncomfortable equals flooded and frozen.  

-There are other things to consider when you’re about to take off for your adventure, but again, I’ll direct you to TrailSisters.net before this post gets any longer.

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. Security does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than exposure.” -Hellen Keller


The sunflowers rise up, 
allowing us to ease into our goodbye.
Just as gently, magically the sunflowers pass on their shine to the aspen trees. 

A parting gift of gratitude for the long summer days.

We harvest the light by soaking in the beauty, dancing under the falling golden leaves.

With our internal flames now brighter, we are guided through the dark days ahead. 

A brief reminder: should you lose your flame, there are always others willing to share their light.

Its truly amazing how being kind to someone makes such a huge difference.

Anytime I’m simply kind to a cashier, the human being on the other end of the phone, etc., I get so much kindness back in return. Often, a sincere and enthusiastic “Have a great day!”, which feels like a “sunshine coin” added to my internal joy piggy bank.

Lessons from Pacer:

Supergirl may be scared of thunder, but she’s still brave… and maybe a little wiser than us humans.

Brave and scared aren’t opposites… bravery entails feeling scared and facing those fears…sometimes with help. Its okay to ask for comfort when feeling scared. Its doesn’t mean your not tough, it means your brave and wise for not resisting a natural response to connection and love.

“I will not abandon you.”: Coming back to Myself in the San Juan Mountains

(Note: This is an edited version of my journaling. The other pages were messier and free-flowing, allowing me to move through my anger and fear. While I’m happy to share many of my thoughts, some things are personal and sacred. I also apologize for the going back and forth with tenses. This is a mix of journal entries and reflections.)

Day 1

The San Juan mountains greeted us with clouds, drizzle, and 50 degrees. A comfort. Mother Nature reflecting the emotions living inside my body. A storm of beauty, gratitude, and grief.

“I will not abandon you.” She whispered.

Day 2

The next day, I cried. Balled might be a better word. As in balled my eyes out as I stumbled down an alpine trail.

You see, I don’t just cry. I ugly cry. I could never be an actress daintily crying in a movie, even though tears come easily for me. They always manage to make crying look like such a pretty act. I cry more like the comedian impersonating the actress crying in the movie, wailing, hiccuping, and sniffling.

“I hate having such a big heart.”, I nearly texted a friend before choosing not to.

This happened several times throughout the day. Each time I thought the pain might break me. “How can my 5’4″ frame bear so much hurt? I’m going to be ripped apart.”, I thought. But after a few minutes, I’d feel the space in my chest expand, the pain would settle, and a smudge of clarity would take its place.


After the evenings misadventure that included a failed attempt at backpacking (which turned out to be good luck), a cloud enshrouded us. It felt good to be consumed. The hug I had been wanting. Later it started raining. It was nice knowing that Mother Nature was crying with me. That I wasn’t alone, not with Her and Pacer by my side.

“I will not abandon you.”, we whispered together.

She reminded me not to self abandon. I keep saying this “I will not abandon you” to myself as my body tried to go numb. I so desperately want to, but I was determined to feel. To not abandon myself, my body, or my Inner Child who always felt like her emotions were too big and needed to be hidden. I had learned through my older sister’s passing that I can survive this pain, this “breaking open.”

And as the darkness enveloped, I could rest.

Day 3 (Colorado Trail)

On the 3rd day, I was mostly tearless as long as I was moving. (I had intentionally planned the day to be moving for half, then napping, journaling/writing, and reading in the second half.) Sad, but more hopeful moving through the sacred mountains. There was clarity in the remote space. Thankfully, Mother Nature decided to wait to cry until we were back at camp. There, we cried together. And that crying opened up space within me to write.

I have so many regrets, but I know I was doing the best I could with how my nervous system was reacting. I have to forgive myself. And if this leads to his healing and happiness, I can find joy in my suffering.

And then I got my perfect moment. Pacer and I were napping (well, I was resting while Pacer was on and off snoring) in the car, mostly dry inside, as the rain fell around us and pitter-pattered on the car. Pacer grabbed my hand with her paw.
(I always new if I were going to get married, it would be in the San Juans. -Note: Humor coming back).

Maybe what he had given me was a gift.

I noticed that even though it was still raining, the sky wasn’t that dark.

“…nothing beautiful in the end comes without a measure of some pain, some frustration, som suffering. This the nature of things. This is how our Universe has been made up.” -Archbishop Desmond Tutu (The Book of Joy)

Day 4 (Colorado Trail)

I woke up in the middle of the night trying to get comfortable, frustrated and sad my time in the abyss was being cut short. The stars were out.

Today’s intention: find joy.

(Later) Still no sun, although I see it trying behind the clouds. A little more gratitude. Enough light and joy to feel Amanda again.

It’s funny how both grief and love can feel so all-consuming. Well, maybe love isn’t the right word. Fear-based love. I never understood the “fear God” concept in Catholic school, so its interesting to me to see I’ve still clung to the ideology in adulthood. Can I let it go for good?

Love, while everywhere, is spacious, not confining. Its Mother Nature saying to us humans “Even though you hurt me, I will still give you wildflowers, just as Father Sky presents you with the Perseids meteor shower each August.”

No tears. There hasn’t been thunder in a few days. Still clouds. Yet a clearing. No sun, but stars.

(In my isolation with Pacer, I was also blessed to meet with a friend this day, a kindred spirit. The perfect break in my retreat inside myself.)

Day 5 (Handies Peak)


The first time we’ve seen it since arriving in the San Juans. A butterfly from my sister. Still clouds, but so much more sun. A friend commented on a picture of me and Pacer on Handies Peak, saying that we/I looked so happy. (Pacer is almost always happy). I reflected: I was. The type of joy that only comes from suffering. After forgiveness, with gratitude and acceptance. Unfiltered light.

While I was never in a labeled relationship, the inherent love was always there, right from the start. It just had no space to grow. Not because we didn’t hold unconditional love for each other, but because we held conditional love for ourselves.

“I will not abandon you.”, I whispered to myself.


The most courageous human act is to choose to love again after your heart as been broken.

To live, to truly live, is to have your heart broken. At least once, but often many times. After, it is a natural survival response to guard it. After all, it is the holiest thing we possess. But once we are aware of this mechanism, we have a choice: to put walls up around our hearts, to defend and protect, or to let our hearts be broken open and allow for even more love to be let in.


Final reflections:

  • Part of me feels like I have simply repeated another “non” relationship from several years ago. Another part of me realize that I have pulled back yet another layer and met with a deeper truth.
  • A few days, mostly alone in nature can help me feel, explore, and grow more than a few months’ time at home. Somehow, in the arms of Mother Earth, healing is accelerated. I feel closer to Me again. (For me, the San Juan mountains* appear to be my go-to: https://adogandhergirl.com/2019/09/10/heartache-and-healing-in-the-san-juans/) *These mountains played an important role when Pacer and I backpacked the Colorado Trail in 2015 as well.
  • A lot of the pain had to do with the “second arrow“, that voice that asked “why doesn’t he want me?”, that believed I wasn’t enough. Ultimately, stepping into that pain and following the thread of that false belief is what lead to my healing.
  • I have rarely ever felt this close to myself.


You, exquisite beauty.

Vulnerable, but not fragile.  Mostly just fierce.

Fierce in your light.  Bold in your colors.  

Strong in storms.

Serene in bluebird skies.


Gracing the Earth for such a sweet, short time.

Everlasting in our souls.

Blessing us with courage to face the dark.

Columbines, paintbrushes, larkspurs, wallflowers, fireweeds, and sunflowers.

Saying your many names is like speaking to a goddess.  

Trying to tame you would only dampen the awe you create.  

Beauty that only grows in open spaces.

Set free. 

Asking no permission to be wild.  

A teacher.

A gift.

A fuck yes to life.

Not mine.  Not yours. Never to be owned. 

Belonging only to her Mother and herself.

A celebration of unboundedness.


As I was writing this poem (over a period of a few days), one thing I was evoked to think about was how my parents never told me how I had to live my life.  Sure, I always felt the societal pressure, especially in the midwest, to work a lot, get married, and raise a family.  And while perhaps my parents never said that to me simply because we’re “midwestern nice” (aka passive-and-sometimes-aggressive, insert eye roll here), they never told me what I had to do.  When I go back to Ohio now, I never get asked “Did you meet someone yet?”, “Don’t you want kids?”, “When are you going to…xyz.”  I know a lot of people do have that constant pressure from their families, a pressure that is very much inconsistent with their own values.  Now my dad just asks me “Are you happy?”  There were certainly many struggles that led me to becoming a strong and resilient wildflower, but I feel blessed knowing that my parents have resolved to leave me untamed.  


In summer, I sing. 
The hummingbirds and I as one.
I dance with the wildflowers, 
instructed only by the wind.

My mind takes a break from over-thinking,
giving space
for my heart to be free.
My soul on fire,
aching in the delight of the light.

The sun rises, rays coming through my window,
like a knock on my door, a friend asking me to come play.
Later, the moon shines down like courage,
a lover asking for a slow dance.

Meet a Mountain.
Rush with the River. 
Sleep on the Dirt.

We meet each other as we are,
Beings of love and light.

And as the last glimmers of sun disappear beyond the Horizon, 
I am reminded of my internal summer.