Whispered message
Of each new wrinkle and gray hair:
Rejoice! You’re still here.

I found myself reflecting on this piece before my thirtieth high school reunion recently. Probably like all my former classmates, I felt some anxiety about how I’ve aged since graduation, while trying to keep those new wrinkles and pounds in perspective.

A dark, rain-lashed day
Even the dog won’t go out
He’ll hold it till spring.

I had always imagined that, if I ever got a dog, it would be a big, outdoorsy, lab. Instead, due to family pet allergies and my daughter’s preference for a small, cute dog to cuddle with, we have a little white rescue dog who is probably a poodle-bichon mix, both hypoallergenic breeds—and both more likely to be found wearing a rhinestone collar in a Parisian apartment than running around in the untamed wilds of Northern California.

With a plop, plop, plop
Boy throwing stones in river
Reorders the world.

Watching my nine-year old at the river last summer, it struck me that the seemingly insignificant act of tossing rocks in the water was giving him a satisfying sense of power. And that made sense when I thought about it: you take a stone from the shore, decide where it may spend the rest of its existence, throw it and see the arc of its flight, hear its splash, and watch the ripples spread farther and farther.

Fierce little huntress—
Done stalking prey for the day,
She captures my lap.

For my sister’s birthday, I wrote and painted this portrait of her cat. Adopted from the animal shelter, this tiny but fearless black cat has proven her worth: she kills rats that are almost as big as she is.

Let the nectar flow—
Rivers of golden honey
Will carry us home.

Thanks to my beekeeper husband, I live with about 20,000 Russian and Italian bees. This piece is part of my honeybee series, which celebrates the secret life of bees and the pleasures of honey, as well as the richness and abundance they represent.

Long walks on the beach
Adoring, soulful gazes—
True love comes on paws.

They shed and slobber, they bring in fleas, they run up vet bills, they exhibit behavior problems—and unlike children, they will never grow up to take care of us in our old age. Why do we love our dogs so?

Banana slug track
Leads up my office window—
Slug career ladder.

This piece, though light-hearted, reflects the sense of bemusement I feel about the traditional “career ladder.”