The religion of the heart is as intimate as a wish breathed to the night sky.

Ambition or contentment? This simple question led me back to a more balanced view of life and put me in touch with the Me I used to know.

Dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field.

It must be hard when you are a beautiful woman and no one will look at your soul.

Here's what I've learned - people will hurt you, but you don't have to respond: Not every mean comment or cruel act deserves to be noticed.

Summer softens lines that winter cruelly shows.

Each heart is made of a different stone - no two feel alike nor break the same way.