I really love this one . . . Might have to keep it for a while. It reminds me of driving the mountain roads of my upbringing and heritage:
Every curve of blindness
opening into majesty;
That kind of drive is magic,
no matter how many times you take it.
Life is the same.
We don’t always know
what’s coming around the bend.
But the beauty in the in-between
is worth the not-knowing.
Melt away my sharp edges
with Your Golden Light.
Breathe healing gently
over the wounds
I’m still embracing.
Remind me —
Slow is not stuck.
Remind me —
Growth begins
in hidden rooms.
Remind me —
I am allowed
to be light again.
Remind me —
You are still here
in the daytime.
The world takes my pen,
You keep my words;
You write them on my heart.
Living takes my years,
But You keep the song
You taught me through them.
So today I do not fight
for I stand under Your sky.
I breathe. I heal.
(c) 2026. All rights reserved.
I didn’t call it an escape at the time. I called it Camp Creek. I called it the cabin on the side of the mountain. I called it “the place I can afford for now.”
It was one room, and the floor sloped toward the back wall. The windows were small, but offered a panoramic view of the trees. There was hook by the door where I hung a hat and scarf I never wore — the only hook in the whole place. It gave me a sense of “home”.
There was a bench by the door, three faded pillows on it. A wreath above on the bench, lopsided, that I never fixed. I liked that it was crooked. It felt honest. When I went outside for coffee, I sat on the deck . . . not the bench. I left the bench untouched, like the dining table in the place I left. It was never home there. And the Camp Creek cabin was the most at home that I’d ever felt.
It was always windy there. The kind of wind that doesn’t ask permission, that pushes through the trees and makes them lean. I would sit on the porch with my tea going cold to watch them and think: they’re going to break. They never did. They bent. They swayed. They held.
I didn’t feel hopeful then. I didn’t see it as a beginning. I only knew I had left. Left the house, left the person, left the version of myself who kept explaining, kept apologizing, kept tolerating the other women . . . kept trying to make it make sense. There was grief in that leaving — not for him, but for the years I gave, for the woman I was in that house, for the belief that if I just loved better it would be okay. Grieving that is a quiet, lonely thing. No one brings casseroles for that kind of loss. You grieve the time. You grieve the self you abandoned to keep the peace. You grieve the fact that you stayed as long as you did.
Some nights I would wake up in the cabin and not know where I was for a few seconds. Then I’d hear the wind and remember: I’m here. I’m safe. I’m alone, and it’s not a punishment. I would get up and clean, even if I wasn’t dusty, just to have something to do with my hands. I cooked for one. I swept the sloped floor. I learned the sound of the wind when it was happy and the sound it made when it was about to whip.
I stayed. Quietly. No fanfare. Just me in that cabin on the mountainside, while the wind did its work.
I painted it recently — not the pain of it, but the fact of it. The cabin small against the trees. The bench with the pillows. The wreath, still crooked. The wind you can’t see, only feel in the way everything leans. I called it Held by the Wind because that’s what it was. Not saved. Not rescued. Held.
Funny thing: my neighbor’s name was Hope. I didn’t know that until the day I moved in. In those first days and weeks, I also found a different kind of hope.
As I climbed Pilot Mountain, the anticipation built – would the views be as breathtaking as I remembered? The answer arrived with the wind. Reaching the summit, I met a young couple beaming with news: they’d gotten engaged that morning. We shared smiles, and I offered congratulations, feeling the joy ripple through the air.
I felt tiny beneath vast skies. A black vulture soared below, its dark silhouette a cross against the sun, reminding me of God’s watchful gaze over the land. The world felt both grand and intimate.
Then, a peregrine falcon swooped in, legs extended, talons outstretched, landing with precision on a nearby outcrop. I held my breath as he turned his head in my direction. For a heartbeat, our eyes locked – wild freedom and human wonder, connected.
Above, the sky danced with raptors: peregrines, red-tails, and kestrels, circling the summit like sentinels. Pilot Mountain draws them in, a vortex of wind and thermals, lifting spirits and wings alike.
In that moment, time stilled. Nature’s beauty humbled me, reminding me of life’s fleeting, precious moments. As I descended, the world felt both bigger and more intimate, forever changed by the heights I’d reached.
Pilot Mountain, located in the Sauratown Mountains of North Carolina, is a distinctive monadnock – an isolated hill or mountain rising abruptly from a relatively flat surrounding area. Geologically, it’s composed primarily of quartzite and metamorphic rock, formed from ancient sedimentary deposits that were subjected to intense pressure and heat, creating a hard, erosion-resistant summit. The mountain is about 2,421 feet (738 meters) high and features a rugged, steep cliff on its eastern side, popular for hiking and rock climbing. Its unique shape and composition make it a notable landmark in the Appalachian region.
Pilot Mountain is a haven for a diverse array of raptors that glide above its summit. The skies are often filled with soaring birds of prey, including peregrine falcons, red‑tailed hawks, and American kestrels, which use the mountain’s thermals to circle and hunt. These majestic raptors add a dramatic energy to the landscape, their sharp silhouettes cutting through the clouds as they patrol the heights of this iconic North Carolina monadnock.
Here are the raptors commonly found around Pilot Mountain, North Carolina:
This watercolor painting captures a majestic, rocky summit set amid lush green and amber foliage on a misty mountainside in North Carolina. The central rock formation rises like a natural throne, its textured surface shaded with violet and gray hues that blend into the surrounding greenery of vibrant greens and soft yellows. In the foreground, rugged stone outcrops lead the viewer’s eye toward the hilltop, while sparse evergreens dot the landscape. Above, a sky of delicate blues and white clouds holds a flock of soaring birds, adding a sense of freedom and elevation. The expressive watercolor technique evokes the natural beauty of Pilot Mountain.
For me, painting is therapy – a way to quiet the mind and let the soul speak through colors. On days when the world feels too loud, I turn to my easel and let the brush guide me. “Twin Sentinels” is one of those pieces that emerged from a place of need, a reminder that you never stand alone in life’s woods.
I was thinking about the times I’ve found solace in nature – walking along a misty lake at dawn, the way trees seem to stand guard over the water, the peace that settles in when I’m surrounded by woods. I wanted to capture that feeling in a small space, something that could bring a bit of calm to a desk or a quiet corner of a room. This 4” x 4” watercolor felt like the perfect vessel.
The two evergreen sentinels stand in the heart of an amber‑gold forest, their dark silhouettes reflected in shimmering water. To me, they represent the quiet guardians of nature – steadfast, watching over the landscape, and reminding us to pause. It’s a tiny piece, but I love that it can fit in small spaces, bringing a touch of mystic calm to a desk, a shelf, or any spot that needs a breath of woodland peace.
Water is life, and in this piece, it’s the thread that weaves together earth and sky. It mirrors the trees, creating a sense of balance and harmony. I’ve always found that walking in nature, especially near water, clears my thoughts and connects me to something bigger. There’s something about being in the woods, breathing in the scent of damp earth and leaves, that puts things into perspective.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how often we forget to take time in the woods – literally and metaphorically. We get caught up in the rush, and the stillness gets lost. This painting is a nudge to step outside, breathe, and remember that nature has a way of putting us back in our center.
“Twin Sentinels” feels like a quiet affirmation: you are not alone, and the natural world is always holding space for you. Whether you’re navigating a tough day or finding your footing in a new season, I hope this piece brings a sense of calm and connection.
Perfect for desk art, small spaces, or anywhere you want to bring a touch of woodland peace.
Contact me for more information on original artworks, prints, and commissions.
In the heart of the mystical forest, where ancient trees whisper secrets to the wind, a timeless dance unfolds. Ethereal Ascension of the Forest Spirits, a watercolor creation born from whispers of wildwood magic, invites you into a realm where spirit and nature entwine.
A majestic stag, guardian of the woods, lifts its gaze to the heavens as a celestial bird takes flight. Together, they weave a tale of transcendence, of souls lifting beyond the veil. The colors — vivid purples, glowing oranges, ethereal blues — dance and swirl like the very essence of the forest dreaming.
This piece is a reminder that we’re woven into the fabric of nature, connected to the pulse of the earth and the whispers of the cosmos. Whether you’re seeking peace, guidance, or a spark of wild magic, let Ethereal Ascension be a doorway to the mystical energies that flow through us all.
When I first stepped into the animal rescue where I cared for furry friends, I was drawn to their tranquil water feature teeming with graceful koi. Watching those orange‑glazed fish glide through lil‑green lily pads and violet swirls sparked something deep inside me — a reminder of fluid energy and healing flow, of pause and tranquility.
Inspired by that moment, I set up my easel and let the paint run free, no rules, just the raw spirit of watercolor. The result is this original piece of four luminous koi weaving among ethereal green and purple circles, their white line‑work catching the eye like energy waves. The glowing mystical colors echo the natural, spiritual world I blend into my Reiki work and animal healing.
The painting isn’t just art; it’s a reminder of how caring for animals and channeling Reiki energy both teach us balance and flow. I am hoping this piece lands in a home where its energy can inspire healing and appreciation for nature’s beauty — just like the rescue water feature that first introduced me to koi.
