Author name: Augusta

The morning begins early at 3 a.m. I listen to some beginner-blues-piano riffs on YouTube. Now, too late for more sleep, I look to the day. The question put is, “What does love want me to do today?” A slight surge of sweetness, anticipation, a tinge of excitement ripples, beacon-like — invites a curious heart. […]

It’s about 5:30 am. With a laptop on one shoulder and files in a backpack on the other. I head for Starbucks for four hours of writing. I have a small corner there that if I arrive when they open, feels all mine for a few hours. I never turn the light on when I

The real story comes from a love-source that cannot be understood with the intellect. ~ Mark Nepo A couple of weeks ago, my eight-year-old granddaughter asked the dreaded question. Is there really a Santa? Her brother who is now ten asked the same question a few years back and catching the parents off guard, things

I often underestimate how sensitive the larger spirit is and how willing it is to help us in every minute and intimate detail — when we explicitly ask. Yet, the other day I was surprised again. I had an unhappy spot that I had been suspicious of for a while. No matter how happy I

The days were golden and the memories are still there in my veins… Ahhh, that were my childhood days… ~ Aanchal Valecha My Grands have stayed up late to toast marshmallows over the outdoor fire pit. They now are just tucked into new beds, in a new room downstairs. Two aunties sleep in the guest

We only part to meet again. ~ John Gay My first inkling there may be life after death happened the afternoon my father was buried. He was fifty-seven and I was twenty-eight. Being brought up a Protestant, I had accepted by word of mouth, there is life everlasting. My acceptance was too surface to have

The other morning I woke into the most velvet feeling moving through my chest. It felt material, tangible, alive, and it didn’t even feel like a feeling! I didn’t want to call it love although it landed me in that place, that aliveness which rather felt like a river flowing through my chest. Generally, I

I don’t believe in aging. I believe in forever altering one’s aspect to the sun. ~ Virginia Woolf My daughter’s friend asked her a few weekends ago, “Is your mother seventy yet?” Actually, sixty-nine was a while back. Yet I can hardly relate to any chronological number. My wrinkles tell me I very well maybe

Most of us feel down at times. Sometimes this sluggish energy waits for us on waking and other times it just moves in for a little. A reader and I were talking about this recently. How emotions dip and one is left feeling like a squashed tomato. She began telling me how she had handled

Hello Day, you little rascal. What have you in mind for this small box called me? Will I feel your early freshness like an inner morning skin? Will I pause to see your skies and hear your laughter in the wind? What music will you play? Three hours later, lunch. “Ohhh Day, not once did