notes from the heart, laura lowery, daily notes, stories
Laura Lowery
inviting mischief

This fall and winter, I am inviting two new words to guide my creative life: attention and mischief.

inviting mischief
stories, voices
Laura Lowery
new year in county dublin

A few days after Christmas I’m eating veggie curry watching the sea through the window. There’s a lighthouse on a little island that appears and disappears through the clouds. Sometimes there are figures walking on the headland near the tower.

I’m here as a kind of halfway house­—after spending Christmas with my family in the suburbs and before going back to my tiny studio in the city centre.

new year in county dublin
daily notes, from the editor
Laura Lowery
they are blooming

All of the things are blooming. Have you noticed? June is here. The Cecil Brunner rosebush is magnificent this year--an explosion of flowers so heavy that its top has fallen away from the white wall of the little city cottage where Lucia is made, and is spilling toward the alleyway. There is a lesson here for me, in expectation and fruition...

they are blooming
daily notes, from the editor
Laura Lowery
forty-two

Sunday, April 9, 2017 - Daily Notes, From the Editor (550 words). Whoa, April is intense. Burgeoning. This thing we call Spring is aptly named. To the untrained eye, new growth appears suddenly, but if you have been paying attention you know: this all started long ago.

forty-two
daily notes, from the editor
Laura Lowery
unfinished, heart and soul

Happy New Year! Oh, the plans I had for ending 2016 with a neat bow, a perfect email, and an announcement of a new offering I've been working on for early 2017. Out the window they flew sometime in the last week while I struggled to balance heart work with paid work, dreams with reality. Instead, I woke this morning unfinished. Like I always do...

unfinished, heart and soul
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more beauty, please

, ,
more beauty, please

Hello friends,

The air is soft with early morning birdsong as I write with a half-cup of coffee nestled in my lap. I'm sitting on the big madrone tree at Seward Park again, feeling appreciative just to be breathing.

The clouds burst a moment ago with a spring rain shower. I only know because I can hear drops hitting the broad maple leaves that form a protective canopy over my journaling session. I am safe here…