I have been seeking the answer to the question for a long time and only until my mother passed that it became clearer to me of the possibility of who or what it was. Yoga is a magnificent and elegant path that leads to a very concise immersion of ONENESS. Posted by adriana cortazzo on April 6, 2015.

a place where I can hang out and make up my own stories. Wednesday, June 12, 2013. A Practical Token of Love. I settle down in the old faded brown easy chair and thought back to the summer of 1941. That summer I was one of the student nurses at the Vermont summer camp. It was to be a reward, a treat, to get out of the humid, stifling city and make some money while using our newly trained nursing skills.

Thanks always for reading! The Price of a Flower. Jenny and the Snowy Owl. Thanks Always for Reading! June 5, 2014. Click the pic for the original challenge. Marna had just come out from the dressing room in time to catch the last hug.

Where I, Marian Green, write about romance, relationships, emotional connections, sex and life as a 30-something woman with a penchant for falling in love. The Ex Boss and Me. The Man Who Broke Me. Calm, fulfilled in so many aspects of my life, having some of the greatest successes in my professional life, and in a wonderful committed relationship with Nathan.

Writing is more then the words, Its more then the paper its written on. I cant write when my fingers freeze,. When the blood in my veins turn to ice. Im in a dark space, a hole I created in my mind,. Alone, together, broken in pieces. Posted in Poems and words.

Web design, ethical wills, name graphics. Thursday, May 15, 2014. Actually, the writer has been MIA period. I feel a twinge now and then, but nothing serious until a few weeks ago when I was truly inspired. S One Book One Chicago.

Picture it and Write Publications. Picture it and Write! Asymp; 16 Comments. Picture it and Write is a weekly creative writing prompt.

Have a suitcase heart; be ready to travel. My ribs move out, my chest expands. This is the tide of my breath. Waves crashing up the beach and sweeping back. The rattle of pebbles in the current. This is the tide of my death. Stranded in that bed, I dream of beaches. When beeping machines drown everything out. I meditate on sand and summer and you. And just as the tide is moved by the moon.

Monday, May 13, 2013.