Mj Pettengill

Upon the earth that spins— awakening within its unwinding, fragments of your nest still linger above my kitchen door.

And then, this year, during the month of May, I decided to sing again.

Each day I spend cradled within the sacred woodland veil is another day of thriving.

Like snowflakes, no two violet petals are alike.

My grandparents were guides for my future self, succeeding as both the farmer and the farmer’s wife.

Union Institute & University Article Features Mj Pettengill, Author

“But I know where the real finale is, and we can beat the traffic.”

I feel blessed to have had you as my earthly father and honor the gifts you gave me in life that continue to unfold.

"St. John’s wort doth charm all the witches away. If gathered at midnight on the saint’s holy day. And devils and witches have no power...

It is with love, joy, and concern that I hear messages woven within an earthly tapestry of sacred harmony.

I am greeted by the bird chorus in the Singing Tree each morning.

So instead of going on about how I authentically care for the planet and its inhabitants, I am celebrating a week or so of silence.

For his music to be played with so much love and respect, three hundred and thirty-eight years later, I think he deserves a cake.

I stand amidst the falling snow, deep within myself.

The oak and weed together rise along the common ground.

Reclaim your wildness, and own your intended state.

The original blog was replaced with a simple poem. Here's why...

Once I was on my way to proper identification, comprehension, and acknowledgment, the wall of pain slowly and steadily vanished.

It is time to remember our strengths and trust ourselves again to navigate the future safely.

Often, we sense the presence of the ancient ones through the subtle movement of trees, birds, animals, and plants.