along the path

Iris Cushman

Thinking, feeling, breathing... most days

Tis the season

It's the most, wonderful tiiime, of the yeeear... I love singing it, not saying it! Yes, I know, many (most) people don't welcome my enthusiasm so I try to direct my Christmas caroling to the dog. He may join in himself (he has a lovely voice) but he invariably accepts ...

An eye for flowers

A month ago it's a flower bud that catches my eye-- nearly hidden in its sheath, delicately veined pink on pink, only two blocks from my front door. My visits to this flower bud become a daily meditation in footsteps and joy and slow progress. Astonishingly slow. The b...

Coming not-home

Bleak, sunless morning. Nothing about the gray feels like morning but I've been watching the night sky lighten since 4:30. My body is similarly ambiguous, physically here but loyally minding Kyoto time. I've flown "back" -- but not back home, as my travels tend to conclud...