Regina Dugan on quietThis morning has begun softly . . . the gift of a snow sprinkle, a dance with two big dogs who are giddy in the chill, the thunder of goat hooves, the cackle of a chicken who doesn’t like cold feet.

Then, time with my own pages, edits, notes, ponderings.

A fire crackles in the potbelly. The coffee softens my lips.

So much silence fills this place today, and I am bounded by grateful.


Last week, I lost a job, a job I needed to lose. One I should have quit long ago because of dysfunction and stress and the prickling edge of knowing that I was not in the right place at the right time.

Still, there in that wrong place, I found a dear friend, a colleague, another artist with whom I connect and find hope.  He is in the process of redesigning this very website, and I am pittering with excitement to see his vision.

So there, even in the hard places, we find gifts. . .


Today has begun slow and quiet because I don’t have the frenzy of that work to address, because I have chosen – here in the vast snowiness of a new year – to let myself be here, now.

I take the time to go out and throw more hay down for the chickens so they can scratch and so Fern, the mouthy hen, doesn’t get cold feet.  I spend a few minutes on the antique sofa Philip’s parents have given us and watch Boone, the big dog of Sunday’s adventure, look askance as Sabeen the kitten turns him into a big bed.

I witness the first chapter of my book and decorate it with arrows and words, those things we call edits but I want to call art.

It’s good here in this stiller space.  A little scary but good.  Silent, rich, deep.

What is good for you today? 

Congratulations to Laura Baker. She was randomly chosen to win the $20 Powell’s Gift Certificate from Sunday’s post