After the earth

After the earth 

has shed its skin, 

I will roam its raw rebirth.


Step over steppe, 

touch over tundra,

trace channels, 

walk along waters.


I will find no death,

no war, 

no silent killers of souls - 

the secrets 

every culture, every country holds.

A Snow Day

Today we woke up to our first storm of 2019. Snow came for the first time and your dad left on a trip for the first time since you were born — giving us a lot to think about. The day was a little adventurous but mostly it was a lot less warm. 

I took you outside and set you down and you got real quiet like the snow. You smiled a little but only at first. Then we watched everything be still. Then you looked so serious about it, I had to tell you it wouldn’t stay that way. 

Snow melts, and he’ll be back. 

Grandpa Jim's Service

“I want to be like my Dad.” -Mike Dunn

For my nephew, Hudson

Some stories

have dying 

in them.

Not all stories.

Today's story did.

Some stories

you will make,

some stories

will be made for you.

All stories 

will shape you.

Some stories

have dying

in them.

All stories

have living

in them.

Most stories

have living

and then dying.

One story

has dying

and then living.

Keep looking

for the story

that has dying

and then living

and living

and living.

Strangers in the Night

I can already feel it slipping away. 

Soon I won’t remember what it was like, not knowing you. 

Every day I can see my opinion of you forming into something more solid, more opaque. I keep adding a piece to your puzzle, knowing I won’t finish it ever but still seeing more and more picture nonetheless. 

When you first got here I felt like a stranger had been placed on my chest. I would wake up in the middle of the night to feed you and stare down with so many questions. You were not intuitive to me. I think I was given a baby that smiled so early because I needed a baby that knew me, so I could learn to know him. 

I was thrown off by you. I wobbled. I could not find my center as I distractedly watched you orbit around me. 

You found your rhythm before I found mine. You led the dance.  

Today I drove by the place where we saw your first ultrasound photo and I laughed, looking back at you in the back seat. Here you are! So much of you has already bloomed into personality. I lost my breath a little back then. I stared at the stranger in the photo and felt uneasy that someone I didn’t know would change me so much.

And now that feeling is almost gone. I always remember your face now. When you first got here I would sometimes get excited to see you after sleeping because I couldn’t remember what you looked like exactly. I know the sound of your laugh. You are now a more uniquely-only-you kind of strange and less could-be-anyone stranger each day. 

I’m guessing someday I won’t be able to recall not knowing you. I may even think I’ve cornered the market on who “Wesley” is.  I want to remember that you made me “mom”, but I did not make you, Son. 

 I want to remember once the illusion of time+proximity=intimacy sets in, that we were total strangers once, until we weren’t. Until one day we woke up friends.  

“It turned out so right

For strangers in the night”

Goodbye "pink house"

said goodbye.jpg

We said goodbye to another place that tells part of our story. So grateful in goodbye for something we didn't deserve in the first place. Thankful for the sweet-smelling, well-lit and well-shadowed memories. Thankful for a great "shelter", through some of our most trying and joyful times. Thanks to the Giver of all good things.