Keeping Vigil [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Posted on September 25, 2026 by davidrobinsoncreative

I’ve read that mourning doves are “strongly monogamous and often mate for life.” I’ve also read that, when one of the pair dies, “The survivor often sits in a nearby tree or roof and coos repeatedly, calling for a partner that will not answer.”

Lately, each afternoon, the mourning dove arrives to hold its vigil. It sits on the same wire in the same spot. Each day we watch for it and when it arrives, we hold vigil with it. We watch. We know that its partner will not appear. We wait for it to know. It is silent.

“It’s so sad,” Kerri whispers. I nod.

This dove reminds me of the last time I saw my great-aunt Dorothy. Del had died suddenly and she was heartbroken. It was the first and only time I saw this powerful mountain woman wearing a dress. Emerald green. I almost did not recognize her. As a boy I’d followed her up mountains, unable to keep up. In her grief she was barely standing. She passed a few months later; a broken heart.

I had my annual physical yesterday. The doctor asked me if I had a will. Then, she asked if there was someone who knew my wishes. I thought of Kerri waiting for me in the reception area. I answered easily, “Yes.” For a moment I was overcome with gratitude; I have not always been able to answer, “Yes,” so I repeated my answer, “Yes.”

Yes.

Sitting on the examination table, I shifted my weight, the paper crinkled. I thought of the mourning dove, the weight of grief sitting on the wire. Dorothy. Loneliness. Heart break. Gratitude. Kerri waiting for me. The paper crinkled. The doctor listened to my heart.

Today, the mourning dove did not return. We held our vigil for it none-the-less.

WRITTEN IN YOUR LIFE on the album AS SURE AS THE SUN © 2002 Kerri Sherwood

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MOURNING DOVE

likesharecommentsupportthankyou!

Filed under: Gratitude, KS Friday, Love, Uncategorized | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

Life Carpentry [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Posted on September 24, 2026 by davidrobinsoncreative

I teased Kerri that this morning that the first thing on my to-do list was to build the ark. It rained again last night. It’s raining now. I’m not talking about gentle downpours; this is an Alabama rain, tropical, an incessant dumping after yesterday’s dumping preceded by the dumping of rain the day before that. Kerri reminded me that my carpentry skills are lacking so, even if I built something that resembled a boat, no animal with good sense would get on it. I have to admit it, she’s right. I’d never set sail on a boat of my own construction.

A few days-that-feel-like-months ago, the sun came out. In the early evening we sat outside so Dogga could sniff the fence line and bark at random sounds. He’s an old dog now so it makes him feel good to bark into the universe. While he investigated the backyard and the greater galaxy, we sat in our Adirondack chairs and watched the clouds. They glowed, putting on quite a show for us. While the beauty of this world evokes a rowdy bark from Dogga, it does the opposite for us: it invites quiet appreciation. It was one of those rare moments when I knew to my bones -at least in that moment – that all was right in my world.

In that moment. Every spiritual tradition on the planet warns of the folly of trying to hang onto the feeling of a moment. The best we can do is savor and move on.

It is good practice to regularly step back from a canvas and from a distance look at the painting. It brings the whole composition back into focus. Stepping back exposes what is invisible when working close-in. “What’s next” becomes readily apparent when standing back. It’s route finding.

The same thing is true in life. It’s why people take vacations or go on retreats or simply take-a-break. To get some distance from our close-in lives and feel what we do not allow ourselves to fully feel, to re-consider, to open the door and invite in the dreams that have been waiting patiently in the lobby.

Sitting in the Adirondack chair, watching with awe the cloud-spectacular, I heard Joseph Campbell in my mind, saying, “No one lives the life they intended.” Had the younger version of me actually built the boat of my intentions and successfully sailed off toward the horizon, I would have missed this moment, Dogga bark-communing with the universe, Kerri and I reveling with the sun on our faces after days of rain, holding hands, shaking our heads at the impossible beauty of the glowing clouds. I thanked all the powers-that-be that my carpenter skills were-and-are lacking, that my life-ship sank in the bay and required me to step back, take a look and live a life of route finding. My path meandered to a place I never imagined, to a moment I did not think was possible. Simple awe. Had I been a better life-carpenter I would have missed it.

Canopy, 48″x48″, acrylic on canvas

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GLOW

www.kerrianddavid.com

likesharecommentsupportthankyou!

Filed under: Awakening, DR Thursday, Gratitude, Uncategorized | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

Too-Small-Of-A-Pot [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on August 17, 2026 by davidrobinsoncreative

We love our licorice plants so it was with great sadness that, after watching it struggle and become entangled in a mysterious webbing, that we decided it was time to start over. I removed it from its pot, noted how root-bound it had become and dumped it by the garage, our graveyard for withering plants at seasons end. A week later, while emptying grass clippings into the bin, I noticed that the licorice plant was showing signs of life. The mystery web was gone. The color was coming back into its leaves. I moved it into a spot where it would get more sun and decided to check in with it every few days. Out of the confinement of its pot, it thrived. A bigger pot, new soil, a different spot in the yard, and the licorice plant was in full resurrection-mode.

Not to stack metaphors but the new place for our rejuvenated licorice plant is on the old wicker chair that found a new home at the garage-end of our driveway. It has become a resting place for birds, squirrels and baby raccoons. A second chance rests on a second chance in the home of two people who each day are grateful that life somehow brought them a second chance.

In second chances, not only is there more appreciation for the day-to-day, the capacity to see the extraordinary in the ordinary, but there is a sense of deep gratitude – a source of deep gratitude – that was not available in the first go-round. Second chances verify that the impossible is possible. Second chances affirm that there is another side to even the most dire of circumstances; today’s tragedy is tomorrow’s boon so why not live it all as a boon?

I have been a plant that was de-potted and tossed by the garage. As it turns out, the problem was the pot. Being tossed was the best thing that could have happened although it felt devastating at the time. A little air, a little sun – and someone paying attention – it’s a magic formula.

Isn’t that the magic path for anyone in too-small-of-a-pot? And who hasn’t at one time or another been in too-small-of-a-pot?

read Kerri’s blogpost about A SECOND CHANCE

likesharecommentsupportthankyou!

Filed under: Gratitude, Love, Merely A Thought Monday, Uncategorized | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

Be Eccentric [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on August 11, 2026 by davidrobinsoncreative

When she chose them to decorate our table I remarked that they looked like plants from the sea so I was delighted to learn that Eryngium is commonly called Sea Holly. Other common names include Rattlesnake Master and Miss Wilmott’s Ghost.

Behind each synonym is a good story. For instance, I just learned that Rattlesnake Master comes from a mistaken belief in traditional medicine that the root could prevent and cure rattlesnake bite. My favorite, because it is a historical story of mischief, “…an eccentric British horticulturist named Ellen Willmott used to secretly scatter its seeds in other people’s gardens.” (Wikipedia) “If she felt a garden was poorly designed or lacked character, she would surreptitiously sprinkle the seeds when her hosts were not looking.”

I guess the moral of the story is that if you invited Ellen Wilmott to afternoon tea you’d better expect to find Eryngium popping up in your garden. My bet is that she thought every garden but her own to be poorly designed.

Tom Mck told me a story of a woman in the early part of the last century, named Sally, who was a writer. She believed the letter “e” was a government listening device. She never used the letter “e” but replaced it with something less capable of spying. If you gave her an article to read, a newspaper or a novel, she would cross out the all the offending letters before she would read it. She would caution people to be wary of the letter “e”.

There is a single rule to eccentricity: the truly eccentric person does not recognize their behavior to be eccentric. “Normal” is in the eye of the beholder.

Kerri, having just cut the stems, arranged and placed the Eryngium in a Ball jar and positioned it on our bistro table, asked, “How many other people would put this spiky purple plant all by itself on their table? I just love it!”

“Not many,” I replied, also admiring the prickly purple-blue flowers that seemed more at home under the sea than on our tiny table. For a moment I was awash in gratitude. How is it possible that in all the world I found the only other person who appreciates the stand-alone-sculptural-spiny-beauty of Miss Wilmott’s Ghost?

read Kerri’s blogpost about ERYNGIUM

likesharecommentsupportthankyou!

Filed under: Gratitude, Love, Two Artists Tuesday, Uncategorized | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

The Order Of Things [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on July 1, 2026 by davidrobinsoncreative

It had been over a month since we walked our loop trail. Walking a loop is good for processing life since no navigation is necessary. Keep walking and you will arrive back where you started.

We had a ton of life to process. It is remarkable what happens in a life in a month.

While processing life it is not uncommon for us to stop mid-sentence for a photo-treasure-op. A Downy Wood Mint paused our conversation. At the beginning of our relationship I found it jolting when I was in the middle of a full-blown-rant and Kerri broke off to snap a photograph. It was disorienting. I’d lose my rant-thread. “Now, what were you saying?” she’d ask after her photography deviation.

Now I understand and appreciate the order of things: beauty before rant. In fact, after I stopped being surprised by her spontaneous-photo-combustion, I understood that I was not being dis-oriented; rather I was being re-oriented. A good rant should never stand in the way of appreciation of the moment. Like most people on earth, I have missed a raft of the miraculous because I was too busy complaining about days-gone-by. I missed the greater by insisting on the lesser.

Our loop-walking has made me easier in the world. If I lose my rant-thread in a moment of nature-admiration, then it was probably not worth hanging onto in the first place. It is amazing how a pause for beauty or a moment of simple appreciation can lessen or even transform the forest fire burning in my brain.

“Now, what were you saying?”

“I honestly can’t remember.” A spontaneous pause on our loop to visit the tiny purple Downy Wood Mint cooled and soothed my mind.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DOWNY WOOD MINT

likesharesupportcommentthankyou!

Filed under: Awakening, Gratitude, Uncategorized | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

A Purer Music [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Posted on May 29, 2026 by davidrobinsoncreative

“Education in the true sense is helping the individual to be mature and free, to flower greatly in love and goodness.”~ Krishnamurti

I like to think that Barney-the-piano’s flowering-in-love-and-goodness began the day he was moved into our backyard. For decades he was held captive in a dark church basement boiler room. Not only was he forgotten but the dry heat from the boiler destroyed his soundboard and, therefore, destroyed the purpose he believed was created to fulfill. We caught the junk man just in time. Instead of hauling Barney off to be dismantled and discarded, we paid him to bring Barney to our house.

Barney lived into a second purpose. It took a while for him to settle in, to learn that making music was not his exclusive talent or destiny.

As he lost his keys to weather, as his veneer curled and fell away, he became a refuge, a safe spot for birds and squirrels and chipmunks. The critters rest on his lid, build nests in his sound box. Each day the birds mingle on Barney and sing. Although he himself is not making the music, he knows that the sanctuary he provides gives the birds reason to sing. He inspires a purer music.

We have watched Barney flower-in-love-and-goodness. We have had the good fortune to witness his transformation, no longer resisting the forces of nature but moving in harmony with them. He is free and most certainly mature, no longer bound by a too-narrow definition, no longer invested in how he looks or what others might think of him. He is content. The dark times no longer define him nor does he bother to hold onto those memories. They get in the way of the birdsong. They distract him from enjoying the moment. He knows that distractions of the past interrupt his other newfound purpose: teaching us, his students, the power of letting go of all that we cannot control.

GRATEFUL on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

Kerri’s music is available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora

read Kerri’s blogpost about BARNEY

likesharecommentsupportthankyou!

Filed under: Gratitude, KS Friday, Metaphor, Uncategorized | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

Take A While [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on May 12, 2026 by davidrobinsoncreative

“You have traveled too fast over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.”

~ John O’Donohue

Even now the cardinal is singing. The early sun warms the quilt covering our feet as we write. Our morning practice of writing blogs together is never rushed. We tease that the editors are tapping their feet, unhappy with our dedication to meditative process evolution. Since we both seem to have issues with authority it is among our favorite games to torture our imaginary editors who are terminally deadline-driven and burdened with our snail’s pace, our too-generous-very-slow writing practice. The editors hate that I stare out the window and daydream. They roll their eyes when Kerri says, “This may take a while.” They desire us to be more “nose to the grindstone”. And isn’t that a happy phrase!

She tells me that it is impossible to get a good photograph of the white trillium unless it is in the shade or the day is cloudy. The sun bounces off the white petals and blows out the image. The day was cloudy so she was excited to find the perfect trillium. While she knelt to take her photograph I closed my eyes and stood still. It is what I do now when we stop for a photo op. Listen and feel. It is good advice to take refuge in your senses; to open up.

Though I adore his poem I imagine that John O’Donohue had it backwards. The soul does not come to take you back. I imagine it has been there all along, waiting. It knows that sooner or later we stop trying to find “it” in some distant future or some grand achievement. Soul waits for us to stop running. It waits for us to stand still enough to recognize that “it” never required a chase or proof-of-worth or acquisition. We at long last stop and take it back.

It’s hard to see anything with your nose to a grindstone – except a grindstone. The last time they were pushing me to hurry-up-and-finish I told the editors that the words “puritan” and “punitive” sounded remarkably similar. They “blew a gasket.” My soul smiled. I closed my eyes and felt the sun warming the quilt covering our feet. I asked Kerri if she was ready to read and she said, “Not yet. This may take a while.”

***

“You have traveled too fast over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain
When it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight,
Taking time to open the well of color
That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone
Until its calmness can claim you.”
― John O’Donohue

read Kerri’s blogpost about WHITE TRILLIUM

likesharesupportcommentthankyou

Filed under: Awakening, Language, Two Artists Tuesday | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

Everyday, Everyday [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on May 11, 2026 by davidrobinsoncreative

Sometimes it feels as if this great big old universe pops us on the head. It wants our attention. It wants us to hear its music beyond the noisy ruckus. This is one of those times.

Many months ago, late at night while Kerri was sleeping, I came across a video called, The Life We Have. I wasn’t paying too much attention and thought it was a hiking video so I clicked on it. I was not prepared for what I saw. At the end I had to stifle my sobs so I didn’t wake Kerri. So, when last week it popped up again in our feed, I told her she had to see it: Rob Shaver, living with stage four cancer for over 20 years, squeezing every ounce of gratitude he can from the life he has. His story is raw. His telling is pure. We both sobbed.

The next day L sent us a video of a man, a friend and teacher, speaking of orienting his life toward gratitude.

The next day D told us of his dedication to live from a place of generosity: generosity in thought, in action, in spirit.

The next day, while sitting in the backyard, seven vultures dropped from the clouds – seven – riding the thermals, spiraling low, just over our heads, and then circling higher and higher until they disappeared again into the clouds. It was gorgeous. Symbolically they represent purification and transformation. “I guess we’d better start paying attention,” I said.

In this past decade, ours has been a path of fire. Layers of dross and armor have been burned away. Bags of life-garbage have been reduced to cinders. We have no illusion that we are garbage-free but we are certain that the junk no longer dominates our view. We are not nearly as invested in murky grievances as once we might have been. We’re more and more clear-eyed in appreciating the moment we’re in and less and less interested in being anywhere else. More and more we hear the music in all things.

“The best thing you can do for your lungs is sing,” Rob Shaver said. This from a man who runs miles a day, a man whose lungs are filled with tumors. ‘”Everyday, everyday, everyday, everyday, everyday…be grateful for the life you have.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MUSIC

www.kerrianddavid.com

likesharecommentsupportthankyou

Filed under: Awakening, Emergence, Gratitude, Merely A Thought Monday | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

The Simplest of Actions [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on April 8, 2026 by davidrobinsoncreative

Every morning we have a ritual opening of the blinds. Each evening we have a ritual closing of the blinds. Most people would not call these routine actions “rituals” but I want to see them as such. I want to acknowledge the moment that we open our house to the light; it is the act of letting the world in. I want to appreciate the moment we decide to close out the world. The action is carried in the blinds. It’s a rhythm of life similar to the tides.

Our opening-of-the-blinds often corresponds to sunrise. Dogga is our chief priest of the coming day. He alerts us to the impending first rays of the light. We open the blinds, sip coffee, listen to the birdsong and watch the sunrise. I learned long ago that if I understand my actions as ritualistic, I would pay conscious attention. I would be less likely to reduce my moments to the ordinary. In my ritual of opening the blinds, letting in the light, I am aware that this day is unique, I have no idea what’s coming. I have never lived a day quite like this before. Open the blinds to surprise.

The same is true at the end of the day. The ritual of closing the blinds serves as a retreat to sanctuary. The darkness descends. “Are you ready?” she asks. I nod. I am ready to withdraw and retire. We close the blinds with gratitude.

Surprise and gratitude. Beginning and ending. I adore the cycles that punctuate our day. I’ve come to understand my appreciation of ritual as something that grounds me. I think this is true of all rituals; they ground us. They need not be religious yet they can’t help but elevate the ordinary to the sacred. The sacred is often nothing more-or-less than paying attention. Open the blinds. Welcome the unknown. Close the blinds. Appreciation for all that transpired.

Opening the blinds. Closing the blinds. Learning again and again that the littlest things, attention paid to even the simplest of actions, matter.

read Kerri’s blog about BLINDS

www.kerrianddavid.com

likesharecommentsupportthankyou

Filed under: Flawed Wednesday, Pattern, Surprises | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

Time Travel [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on March 18, 2026 by davidrobinsoncreative

During the recent power-outage we learned the obvious: most of the activities of our life require a plug and reliable power. We learned that our access to information and connection-to-others is also plug-dependent. We learned that the car is a great-and-necessary place to warm up while also recharging devices.

We also learned how the absence of plug-driven-life greatly impacts the pace of our day. Time is a slow-moving river when the power goes out. What do you do when a screen is not available to demand your full attention? Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate my technology as much as the next person. I would not be capable of writing if I had to type my fast-thoughts on a slow typewriter. I remember with horror the days of white-out and endless retyped revisions. Also, technology makes my vocabulary seem much more expansive than it really is. Do you remember flipping through a heavy Thesaurus to find a synonym? Do you remember how long it took to research a topic when the beginning point was a card catalogue or microfiche?

The power outage tossed us back in time.

We paced so I picked up my pencils and drew pictures in my sketchbook, much as I had done as a child. We lit candles when the sun set and spoke in candlelight tones. More than once we went outside and talked with our neighbors. They were out so we went out. We made sure the elderly neighbor across the street was safe. She made sure that we were safe. We returned to a time when conversation was face-to-face. The most important news was local and immediate. We entered a era when sunset was the cue to crawl into bed, when sunset meant a drop in already cold temperatures and the only warmth in the house was beneath a pile of quilts. Time seemed more expansive and not in short supply.

We relearned the feeling of wiling away the day. We reveled in the expansion of our attention span.

In the end, we enlivened our gratitude. When the power popped on moments before the blizzard, we cheered. The furnace kicked in. The lights extended day into night. We made dinner on the stove and it was hot! Simple things that go mostly unnoticed became opportunities for thanksgiving. For a few days until trust in the plug was restored we knew that we would take nothing for granted.

And with the restoration of the power time sped up. Our screens were alight, the information inundation and rapid media stream returned. We re-inhabited the era when the question at the end of each day is inevitably. “Where did this day go?”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CANDLE

www.kerrianddavid.com

likesharecommentsupportthankyou

Filed under: Flawed Wednesday, Gratitude, Navel Gazing | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

Next Page »
  • buy us a coffee :-) Thank you!

  • visit the studio melange at kerrianddavid.com

  • The Seer available on Amazon.com

  • Lucy & The Waterfox is also available on Amazon.com