Figures of Inspiration

Two figures have been ever present in my life cloaked with wisdom and filled to the brim with unconditional love.

“You are incredible, my wonderful darling.” Grandmother declares with a flourish of her hands.

“You make us proud.” Grandfather says, his eyes disappearing behind the wrinkles of a smile.

Even as an exhausting youth, filled with an insatiable desire to know everything, they both took the time to listen.

Especially now as an adult and parent their support and consideration moves me through mountains.

And each time we meet we share this life long exchange:

“I love you Gramma, I love you Grampa!” I say, wrapped within their arms. A fortress of security lay within our physical bond.

“And we love you.” They whispered back.

-M.E. InkOwl
Author’s Note: The cabin featured in this month’s posts was built by my grandfather and great grandfather. It has now stood over thirty years collecting memories and history as generations have grown to love its weathered frame.

My grandparents, Don and Jan, have spent most of their life moving between ordinary existence and paradise as they have fixed up and improved our cabin, The Cabin.

They have imbued each wall, floorboard, and window with their very souls.

May it continue to bring peace, inspiration, and joy to many future generation is my hope. Their legacy will live on long after they and I have passed.

Thank you all for taking the time to read and participate in this month on The Ink Owl. Your words and likes are every so appreciated.

Creed of a Writer

Different am I, one who is touched by the fire of ink and paper.

The world is divergent to my eyes, one moment at a time.

Many see it as a fever of the mind, a weakness to be excluded, or ignored.

“Oh you write,” They say with an awkward pause, “Why?”

But how do I explain the why?

What words do I choose to express my mind, body, and soul in a moment filled with willing ignorance?

“Tell me, why do you breathe?” Is my yearning response.

“Let me lift the surface of my mortal frame and have you listen to the synapses within my mind. Do you hear the song contained within those delicate neurons?”

I picture myself saying, “Please would you mind not flipping your epiglottis down over your trachea as you swallow that drink of water, you’re clearly missing the point of this discussion.”

Part of me hisses out, “Why can’t you stop your eyes from blinking all the time? See, you’re pupils are constricting in this light, please avoid embarrassing me with the use of involuntary muscle movement, you’re being weird.”

“Do you have to pump blood at this very minute?” I scream as their heartbeat interrupts our conversation.

This is why.

I see the world in a different way than you. Not because I’m shorter or taller than you. Not because I have contacts or that my eyes are green.

I experience living in a myriad of language, in a colorful wash of words. My senses do not stop at that beautiful sunset, or scenic byway. I do not move on with my day after that chance encounter with an utter stranger, or exchange of verbal communication.

Each interaction is a hundredfold of what could be for those contained within my fingertips. I see an endless amount of sunrises and sunsets, across numberless worlds.

For my mind is inhabited by another universe of stories. Each one presses upon every moment of my life, waiting to pour from the gray and white matter of my cerebrum.

I write, because I breathe.

My mind needs to tell stories, just as my body requires liquid to stay hydrated.

Words come to the heart and mind the same as blood cells leaving my marrow, to stop would mean an unnecessary ending.

I cannot stop.

The real trouble is finding a moment to write it all down.

-M.E. InkOwl


Between Cloud and Stone

“Run!” My feet plead as I stand before it all.

The sky stretches far beyond my small body as wind tosses grass about.

“Go.” Whispers my hands, aching to reach out and propel me forward.

Shadows play over a vast patchwork quilt of alfalfa and sage.

“Move.” Says the wind as it dances around my ears.

Sunlight warms my skin, enhancing a feeling of sleepiness.

“Step.” Thrums my heart, quickening as my pupils constrict in excitement.

And as a stick thrown into a gurgling stream, I surged.

-M.E. InkOwl

Summer’ Last Breath

We played upon the gentle graces of Summer’s last breath.

Between tree and water, our lives stood still.

Before us lay a pool of inspiration,

Waiting to be released upon willing minds.

The sun warmed our skin, even as a whisper of fall came calling.

Around us, leaves began to turn and our very bones felt a subtle shift.

“Winter is coming.” The earth spoke to us.

-M.E. InkOwl

Haiku #2


Rise oh bones of yew

Drink up dust from yonder earth

Resurrect the light


-M.E. InkOwl


Home is what I call thee.

For as doth my bones ache to be removed from thee,

So singeth the blood within my veins.

My heart whispers, “Stayeth a while, lest thou wander too far.”

For upon my brow is etched a righteous design,

To be, forever, cradled within a basin of perfection.

Here I am complete, comforted by thy familiar embrace.

Young am I in thine infinite gaze, a bee upon a flower.

But even as the sun’s rays fall, so will I,

Never to be returned.

-M.E. InkOwl



Haiku #4







You captured my heart

As our world was set aflame

We are but cinders

-M.E. InkOwl

The Wheel Ever Turning

Here upon the ground I walk,

Between tall grass and sage.

In the distance, I spy a lowing form,

Chocolate brown surrounded by gray-green.

I feel an age pass beneath the sun,

Within the blink of an eye.

A hawk twists in the sky,

And below the lowing continues.

For now, my feet must hold me down,

Connecting me to reality.

-M.E. InkOwl

A Feast of the Mind

 Sometimes it feels like I’ve stepped from the bonds of reality and wandered through the gates of infinity.

I cannot tell between the aging lenses of my eyes if what I behold is a mere figment of my imagination, or solid fact beneath my bones.

So close I feel to the Earth that is my home. Yet at a distance, I am confined by the limits of my feeble mind.

Wake up my vision, shake off the dust of age and take part in the feast all around.

-M.E. InkOwl