Sometimes the woods whisper. Not with words, but with birdsong, morning mist, golden light filtering through the trees,
and the quiet reminder that we don’t have to hurry through life.
Whispers of the Woods was created for anyone who has ever found peace on a nature trail, paused to watch sunlight dance through the leaves, or felt their shoulders relax the moment they stepped beneath a canopy of trees.
Inside you’ll find nature photography, reflective poetry, and original music that can be experienced through QR codes woven throughout the book.
It’s an invitation to slow down. To breathe. To notice. To remember that some of life’s greatest conversations happen when the world grows quiet.
Where is the place in nature that quiets your soul?
Explore Whispers of the Woods and the rest of our collection at
A haze clings softly to the distance, while raindrops tap gently on the window pane. The birds seem delighted by the morning, notes rising from leaves washed fresh from last night’s rain.
Soon enough, the heat will settle, as the sunlight lifts.
But not yet.
For now, this cool morning air awakens my energy. Linger on the stillness. Linger on serenity.
If I still myself enough, will I feel the next poem emerge? Words that race on by before they’ve had a chance to be heard.
Let me quiet my mind. Give the poem time to be caught. It’s out here this morning. I can sense it just beyond the birdsong, just beyond the rain-washed leaves.
Words playing in the morning air. A poem creating itself for me.
The suitcases aren’t packed yet, but I can feel the turning.
Soon, we will return to Wisconsin. To seasons that bite for a while still before the bloom. To thawing lakes instead of ocean waves. To a different rhythm.
But before we go — I need to pause.
I need to say thank you.
What a gift it has been to be here. To wake each morning and walk toward the bay To breathe in air softened by salt and eucalyptus. To let the sky stretch wide above me, uncomplicated and generous.
These morning walks became more than exercise. They became prayer. They became listening. They became noticing.
I wrote a poem about those walks. About the way the light met the water. About how the sky held everything without trying to control it.
And then, as sometimes happens, the poem began to hum.
Words found melody. Steps found rhythm. Breath became song.
The ocean has a way of doing that — turning observation into offering.
Today I’m sharing that song with you. It carries the hush of early morning, the widening horizon, the gentle insistence that each day is a beginning.
As we prepare to leave, I don’t feel loss as much as layering.
Wisconsin is not a departure from this place. It is the next verse.
I need to find morning walks there too — different skies, different winds, different lessons.
Stillness instead of surf. But the same invitation to
Notice. Breathe. Begin again.
Gratitude travels well. It doesn’t require an ocean view.
So I carry this season with me — the color of the water at dawn, the way the clouds part without argument, the reminder that rhythms continue whether I cling or release.
Thank you, California mornings. Thank you for the song.
Soon we’ll turn toward Wisconsin — not leaving light behind, but carrying it home.
Moving in between stories, Trying to make one of our own. The headlines scream “Protest” While Monks Walk For Peace “Alone”.
It’s hard to navigate the twists and turns Trying to stay centered on your own road. It’s hard to take in the day’s beauty While clutching on to the emotions you hold.
Our life, my life made up of so few precious days, I don’t want to be selfish now, But here’s what I’ve got to say.
I’ll Walk For Peace With every breath I take Every photo I share, Every poem I create.
I’ll protest government overreach Though my activism legs are old and slow. So I protest by shining my little flicker of light Down this crazy, unrelenting, twisted road.
We are a country built from toil and mistakes. Our forefathers, far from perfect. So many lives have been lost along the way.
But the message was always crystal clear: At least it was to me All of us are created equal. Remember? This is supposed to be the land of the free.
Now, this poem may feel like a Twisting, turning mountain road With blind corners to navigate. But know that I’m searching for beauty as I go.
So my protest sign will read like a prayer:
Keep your eyes focused on Peace. Steady as she goes. Because while you’re the one driving, You’re responsible for that piece of road.
While I get to step away from the harshness of our times—if only briefly—people in Minneapolis keep fighting. They keep grieving. They keep demanding to be heard.
ICE OUT.
Two people in their state are dead. Their deaths came while peacefully protesting. Videos run nonstop from multiple angles. Look. Believe your eyes.
The lies pour out of the mouths of these so-called “agents” like water—easy, uninhibited, flowing free. Spin created on the spot, delivered with confidence. How do people lie so effortlessly? And with such conviction?
Meanwhile, thousands gather day after freezing day, standing in bitter cold, calling out: “Bullshit.” They’re told to keep recording. Keep sharing the videos. Let truth burn a hole through the sewage of lies.
We are not domestic terrorists because we stand up for democracy. We are not inciting violence because we carry cameras and whistles.
And yet—alongside all of this—there is the Monks’ Walk for Peace.
The contrast is stark. Like a Minnesota winter against the sunshine of California. Both exist at the same time. The question is simple: Which state do we choose to live in?
The Monks’ message is simple too. Let everyone live. Be compassion. Be love. Open your hearts to kindness. Make room for one another.
People gather along the roads as the monks pass—praying, walking with them for a while, wanting to warm themselves in the light of their message. Now the monks have stepped into ice and cold, but the message does not change.
It flickers like a candle—steady, persistent—showing a way out of the darkness.
Light a candle. One candle becomes many. Many become a torch. A torch becomes a blaze.
This light can burn through the darkness. It can show a way out of this night of terror.
Truth is our torch in the night.
Walk with the monks. Light a candle. Join their growing flicker of light.
Love is not passive—it is resistance.
Stand with Minnesota. Hold that candle high. Rise up with love and light.
Drown out the flood of lies. Flood the world instead—with kindness, with truth, with moments of light.
My heart pounds. My eyes cry. I have grandchildren who expect to grow up in a safe world. They deserve that. We promise them that.
But right now, in Minneapolis, that promise feels fragile—shaken by ongoing violence involving federal agents and civilians. In just the past few weeks, federal immigration agents have shot and killed at least two people during operations in the city, including a 37-year-old man in south Minneapolis this Saturday..
These are agents supposedly sent to “keep the streets safe.” Yet people are dying on those streets. Homes surrounded. Doors broken in. Protests rising. Tear gas deployed. Tensions flaring.
America is at war with itself.
I see masked agents armed with weapons. I see people in the streets trying to protect their communities. I see Fear. Grief. Anger.
How did we get here? What kind of anger drives people to strike before they listen? What hunger for power requires another’s suffering?
And so I turn to the Monks’ Walk for Peace. I want to walk with them. Their message of compassion and love is where I find my calm. Still, I struggle. How does one remain compassionate now? How do I walk in quiet love yet insist on accountability for violence?
I want peace returned to this country I love— not the absence of struggle, but the presence of justice, dignity, and safety for all.
I want my grandchildren to grow up in a world where leaders protect life, not devalue it. Where disagreement does not turn into violence. Where service means safety for everyone, not fear for some.
This feels like a turning point. Democracy itself is at stake. Republicans have the power to stop this right now, and I am pleading with them to do so—before our country is pushed further toward fascism.
For now, I light a candle for Minnesota. And for our country. And I pray.
Tranquil Resources 