spent a lot of time…

palm full of pebbles

palm full of pebbles

it’s Sunday evening, winding down. i’m sipping on some tea brew that has chocolate and mint in it, and it’s going down smooth. Amos Lee has been crooning around this nook for the last few weeks, and this song more than any of the others gets put on regular repeat. tonight is no exception.

there’s granola, still warm, sitting on the stove. the kitchen table is strewn with shrunken sweaters. i’m practicing the art of making good stuff come from what i’ve already got. stop looking for more when chances are, all i need is already right here. easier said than done sometimes. the grass is always greener…you know. yeah, we know.

there have been thresholds crossed this week. days dreaded, days anticipated, days survived. there have been long walks in all sorts of weather. there have been sweet moments and sad moments. there has been creation…there has been letting go. there has been the tender joy of a little babe; laughter of old friends; silence of celebrations no longer shared. there have been moments of honesty in the produce aisle, the barbers chair, the neighbourhood diner, the kitchen table.  there has been snow and sun and ice and rain and wind so powerful it all but took my breath away.

and what does any of this have to do with a blackbird and a studio and a woman wandering her way through what it means to make art, to be an artist? i ask myself that sometimes. even though i always know that i already know the answer. it has everything to do with everything.

i’ve got a palm full of pebbles. bits of things, scavenged shards. beaten down by waves and wind and time. mountains in the small of my hand.

i’ve learned a lot. i’ve really learned a lot. broken down on the bedroom floor… nobody told me that living was easy, but i’m not living in fear anymore.

peace for the journey, little birds. may we all keep finding ways to make something good come from what we’ve got. may we each have the patience to watch the mountains become pebbles in our hands…


ways to make the cold nights warmer

Idea No 1.

remember a moment when the whole world felt alive



Idea No. 2.

listen to some music that helps settle you in your bones. when that song finishes,  listen to some more.

Idea No. 3.

find a story to take you somewhere.

“I was once telling stories to a group of seven-year-olds, and when the program was almost over one little boy hollered exultantly, “Never finish!” Perhaps this is the whispered, peek-a-boo truth of stories: life ends and stories, too; but stories end in their own good time and with as much “working around” as the teller can fashion, and even in the silence afterwards they are able to keep speaking to us. Stories let us hear the footsteps of our own transformation coming towards us on the pathway of everyday life. We learn from our stories how to dream, tell and remember beyond our own ending, and this may be as close as we can get to never finishing.”

– Dan Yashinsky, from Suddenly They Heard Footsteps


there are no dirty words.

” If you can make what your hand falls on sing, then just do it.”

Leonard Cohen

mr. cohen

mr. cohen

Sunday morning radio has replaced the piano-led choruses that for so many years made up the soundtrack to this time slot, week after week. It’s funny the things you think will always be there. It’s funny the things you find you don’t miss.

Today, the small windows are frosted and the world outside is blanketed in white. The words of the poet replay through my speakers and remind me of moments when I felt myself come alive. He writes about love because it’s so hard to find, so easy to miss.

The visiting cat won’t sit still, every shadow and string a possible playmate. My sitting bones, a perch.

Everything is a muse in this spice box of earth. Sunday morning, outside the temple, I’m finding sanctuary in the ordinariness of it all.


brambled thoughts be the thorns to sleep

first steps

first steps

1. rice pudding in a paper cup, picking around the raisins.

2. getting to know the way a day moves through a new room

3. hummingbird blue

4. this man’s music on repeat for the millionth time this week

5. too much stuff

6. so we hold our secrets closer than our hearts

7. sweet corn on the counter

8. learning to let go.


song for a rainy saturday


i haven’t posted a saturday song on here in a while, but this rainy saturday sky seems to call for one.

yesterday, on a whim, i stopped in my favorite little record shop here in town just to see what i might find. within the first few minutes of being there i found a jackpot of Townes Van Zandt , which was the best treasure i could have hoped for. and the timing couldn’t have been better – Townes will make the stretch of rainy days ahead so much more bearable.

so here\’s a favorite of mine, to help sing us through the grey skies.

may good things grow today.

the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs.

a sunday list of small things:


so small and so perfect and so out of place.

so small and so perfect and so out of place.


sometimes music shines when you play it in a small room, stripped down.


small sanctuaries, stitched up with stories.

small sanctuaries, stitched up with stories.


brave heart, small girl, waiting for a big train on a tall bridge.

brave heart, small girl, waiting for a big train on a tall bridge.

when spring takes too long to come

i’m cramming the nooks and crannies of heart and head with things that remind me that rain is music on the roof; snow is a clean slate; wind brings change; and every season eventually, always, comes to an end.


 Miss Mary Margaret

Miss Mary Margaret

the brilliance and beauty of Mary Margaret O\’Hara


earl grey tea with a bit of milk

earl grey tea with a bit of milk


the simple truths in the pages of The Camino Letters




the comfort of blankets

the comfort of blankets


good poetry

Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver

Cold now.

Close to the edge. Almost

unbearable. Clouds

bunch up and boil down

from the north of the white bear.

This tree-splitting morning

I dream of his fat tracks,

the lifesaving suet.

I think of summer with its luminous fruit,

blossoms rounding to berries, leaves,

handfuls of grain.

Maybe what cold is, is the time

we measure the love we have always had, secretly,

for our own bones, the hard knife-edged love

for the warm river of the I, beyond all else; maybe

that is what it means the beauty

of the blue shark cruising toward the tumbling seals.

In the season of snow,

in the immeasurable cold,

we grow cruel but honest; we keep

ourselves alive,

if we can, taking one after another

the necessary bodies of others, the many

crushed red flowers.

the failure keeps us humble and leads us closer to peace.

Pic (65)

thanks to my sweet friend amy for sharing this song with me the other day.

it’s the kind that needs to be shared.

weather systems


this morning the music of Andrew Bird is filling the spaces between the walls.

a creaking violin

winding through old streets,

a voice that keeps me on the edge

of comfortable.


the man got down on his knees for music



Shane Koyczan finds a way to get me to stop everything i’m doing and listen to whatever it is he has to say. I listened to this one on repeat today. It’s kind of just the way it has to be done. There are so many words said with so much heart, if you only listen once you risk missing the point.


Then listen again.

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Words + Photos + Credit

Unless otherwise noted, all original photography and text are property of Raechelle Kennedy. If you see or read something here and feel inspired to share it somehow, please be considerate and give the artist (me!) credit, or even better, drop me a note and make sure I don’t mind.
Thank you!

Here + There

Secondhand Sainthood and the gift of losing it all – Topology Magazine, December 2015

Ten Things Made – Topology Magazine, December 2015