The Promise of Spring
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Hello friends, We’re in the midst of a glorious false spring here in Portland, Oregon. Crocuses are blooming, and plum trees and daffodils are showing small buds. The air is cool and fresh, the sun shines, and yesterday, a small red finch scoped out the front porch of our 108 year old home, seeing if there’s a good spot to nest. Finches nested on our porch a couple of years in a row a few years back. Seeing that finch lifted my heart. Seeking a place to nest is a sign of hope. There is a future. There are plans to make and eggs to lay and hopefully, some chicks to be born. These days, I’m doubling down on hope. Not the pie-in-the-sky variety, but the taking-small-actions type. Social unrest and uncertainty keeps happening, but that doesn’t mean I’m not taking action today for possible good things to come. Maybe you’re in a good place this week, or maybe you’re struggling. Or maybe, like many of us, you are some combination of both. Regardless, today I wonder: What gives you hope this week? What actions are you taking, small or large, to build a nest to cradle better possibilities? I’d love to hear from you. Best wishes - Thorn Need a break? How about joining an intrepid crew of con artists and thieves finding justice for the downtrodden? My Mouse Thief novella ebooks are discounted on my website: ThornCoyleBooks.
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T. Thorn Coyle
Hello friends, While on a walking break from the writer’s conference I taught at last weekend, I paused to snap a picture of a wall mural. It was advertising something—toasted English Muffins, I believe—and showed a mountain scene, with trees, lake, and sky, and people entertaining each other with song around a campfire. But besides the incongruity of such a beautiful scene marketing a breakfast bread, it was the message that stopped me: “Wake up to what’s possible.” What's Possible mural by...
Hello friends, We had one of our rare snow days here in Portland, Oregon. When snow arrives here, it stays for a week at the most. This week’s storm lasted for all of twenty-four hours. That sort of snow is a pleasure to walk in, and a pleasure to watch from the warmth and comfort of our 108 year old home. Others are not so fortunate, I know. Before the storm hit, our household contributed to a hotel fund for some folks who live on the street. And, as the temperatures reached freezing in the...
Hello friends, I started this newsletter at the beginning of the Covid pandemic, and named it Keep Breathing. The name was partially in reference to this new, frightening illness, but also harkened back to everything I’d taught and practiced for years: To pause and take a conscious breath is to be present with what is. To pause and take a conscious breath is to open to possibility. There is life in a single breath. And there is magic. We breathe with the trees and the plants. We breathe with...