Welcome to ~On A Whim~ !

I hope you find this a place to relax, meditate, chill, just get your mind off things.

Nothing special here. Just a little conglomeration of things that make me happy or that make me grateful...
maybe make me think (a little).

I hope they do the same for you.

Thanks for visiting... xo stace

Saturday, June 9, 2012


I walk the edge of the shoreline.
Footprints fill with water
and disappear as if I’d never been there.

So it is with life.
We travel its path, leave our marks
in hopes they will make a difference.
Like the starfish I gather along the way
and place back into the ocean.

That’s all we really need
to afford each other.
The encouragement to persevere.

I make more tracks, rescue more starfish
and watch the sun bob in the ocean
as it rises over the new fallen day.
The waves wash over my feet.
I am cleansed.

Friday, January 6, 2012

The Weight of the Day

Shadows clamber
through the windows,
cohorts of the rising sun.

They bring with them
troubles of new day.
Odd that the advent of sunlight

bears such darkness.
Nighttime morphs into dawn
and twenty-four fresh hours

settle down upon me
as the huge black weight
I’m forced to carry

rides me hard--
spurs buried against my side
flat-out in a dead man’s run.

*Published Mused Spring 2012

It's Me, I'm Here

So here I am begging you to see me.
Like a child on a swing pumping
my legs faster and faster,

going higher and higher until
the whole thing begins to topple
back and forth out of the ground.

Then you notice me for every
reason but one that matters.
Why can’t you see the beauty

in the lines of my body
as I glide back and forth?
The subtle way my hair glistens

under the sun? The look of joy
and contentment on my face
while I perform for you?

Had you not heard the thumping
of the swing set against the hard ground,
you wouldn’t have seen me yet again.

Bohemian Girl

She lives high in the mountains
where the elms skirt the roads
in blankets of champagne and russet
and the moon, when it blooms
sits on the highest hilltop.

The sun weaves its way through the pines
and tattoos the forest floor--
glistens on Little Bear Pond
like light dancing off diamonds.
Minnows circle just under the surface.

Her cottage is quaint, sturdy. Made
of logs with hand hewn shutters.
A solid oak door, speakeasy grille
guards the front. Her garden
is fragrant with tea olive and lavender,

lush in herbs like sage and basil.
Lanterns hang off wrought iron hooks.
She lights them at dusk to honor the night,
draws moths to the flames
so they can dance in the glow.