June Sentences

a month of opening new doorways

Dear readers,

I write these words from the basement of a friend’s house - the smoke from the fires of southern Colorado and Utah have forced us to leave our humble mountain abode so that we can be in an indoor space for a while. The pollution from the smoke has been heavy, and finally yesterday, I realized how compromised my health was becoming from it. With a heavy heart and a sense of adventure, we closed up the land and came down to the valley for the night, maybe two, maybe three nights, feeling oddly like refugees, oddly displaced by the fires and winds of another land.

In light of earth’s deep call for balance, I wanted to share here with you all about an event we hosting on our land at the end of August.

A four day water prayer is being asked to arrive here on our land, with the presence of a number of very special elders from various lineages including Lakota, Diné, Hopi and Huichol. This gathering is inspired by the deep call to unite our minds, our hearts, our focus and our prayers towards uplifting the sacred in nature, uplifting the waters, cleansing the waters and protecting the waters of life, both internally and externally. This is an opportunity to both enter deep time in the way of traditional prayer and ceremony, and also network with fellow like-hearted beings - advocates, organizations, farmers and families who care about mother earth the way we do. We invite you to join us. You can find more information HERE.

Please share flyers and information with your communities.

The four day gathering is an in person event, but if you cannot come and feel to donate to the cause (the elders, the land, the waters, etc.), please do!, at our give send go fundraiser page. No amount is to small and each dollar will be used for the benefit of this watershed and caring for our elders. Thank you in advance -

Without further ado, here are my June Sentences, based on Chris La Tray’s single sentence writing practice. About the practice he writes:

It’s a simple practice and fulfilling … and also maybe not so simple as it may seem. Regardless, the practice is excellent training for paying attention to the small moments of my life, and I enjoy sharing those moments here. This remains the best and most consistent aspect of my writing efforts, and something within the reach of anyone who simply wants to be a more attentive participant in their own life.

1. Just barely awake, I hear a little voice speaking to me about the trees, the forest - about how the coal mine is killing the forest.

2. I bring my parents and daughter up to the meadow where I need clear an old waterway, and there I become completely covered, head to toe, in floating cattail seeds.

3. He gets out of his car and looks me deep in the eyes, holding my hands, holding back tears, and captures the moment in his memory.

4. As she crawls the ladder up to the loft, the sun strikes her pink sequin dress and creates the most incredible glittering band of tiny pink lights across the walls and ceiling that follow her tiny self up the ladder.

5. Gratitude in every step, walking in the silent mystery school of earth.

6. I can’t tell if it’s his tears or mine running down the bridge of my nose.

7. Gathering the pieces of my splattered life, I sit down in the morning sun with my notebook and a hot cup of tea.

8. A swollen right eyelid has half my face in tears all afternoon.

9. In a cup of tea, every bubble reflects my face.

10. Their voices come echoing out of the tipi as I lay quietly by the candle flame.

11. Beneath the canopy of aspens, all three of us melt into another world on the green forest floor and listen to the bird sounds echoing through the spruce trees.

12. With lightning speed the mother mouse picks up, one at a time, each of her three babies and moves them somewhere safe.

13. A long conversation with the Looking Horse family has me rocking quietly in the hammock, slowly digesting all the information.

14. I carve the elk rib, slowly, little by little, into a tear drop shaped pendant, and it begins to rain.

15. Walking barefoot through the cemented picnic area, carrying 25 pound bags of grains and beans and feed, I realize how much the land has changed me.

16. I find my quail babies all lifelessly strewn over the dirt floor of their coop, some bloody, some headless and gutted, others dead and untouched - we bury them behind the yurt in a quiet, tearful moment.

17. At the library, Amara complains that her little purse is so heavy, so I ask her what’s in it, and she pulls an enormous crystal skull out of her tiny side bag.

18. A feeling of loss I can’t shake as we barrel down the mountain with the three kids, one infant and two mamas.

19. As I brush her long hair and she nurses her baby, a friend arrives at the bottom of the stairs and wonders if she can come up.

20. The gentleman inside the garage at the estate sale watches us carefully as we look through screws and tools, scraps of leather and funnels.

21. Amidst the green canopy we’ve created in the forest, my daughter and I kneel down and pluck wild mint.

22. I lay face down on the floor, letting the sun set all around me, and do nothing.

23. Quietly mucking the old goat pen, I notice one of the chickens likes to follow me around.

24. Her papa holds out a brand new yellow dress, and says, “In case she can be in the fourth of July parade, we thought we’d have her dress up like the sun.”

25. I notice the top opening in the tipi is shaped like a heart and then I hear the deep roar of thunder.

26. Smoke from the sage bundle lifts up into the sky as the sun rises.

27. Outside the wedding party, I look at Jay and say, “I feel like I’m an ancient rawhide star map pulled out of some cave deep in the mountains, compared to these people.”

28. Tapping the water like a drum, I sing to the lake there, to the water spirits, the snakes and frogs, the fish and reeds and to all aquatic life.

29. After a long conversation with an old friend, I remember the magic of the Water Prayer and begin the slow opening to its requests of me.

30. Hammering copper in the little tipi, I turn around to see three chicken hens clucking in the doorway.

Thank you for reading. This publication continues to be a central point of integration and expression as a mother, writer and creator in these times. Your comments, your time and support are appreciated.

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