Tenn Street Jazz


She danced
with light igniting
her soft wild tresses,
sun’s echo in the room.

She moved
to the beat of
jazz silhouettes
framed by storefront window,
drummers and base,
guitars and mandolin,
clarinet and tapping
feet under tables.

Her fingers snapped
as her palm kept time
on her bluejeaned leg,
eyes closed in rapture,
chin raised in tribute.

Her essence braided
into notes rolling and swirling,
coffee and patchouli,
heads nodding in union.

Her spell cast.
Music and spirit seeped
through cracks and door jamb
into an unsuspecting

And the world paused

and smiled

and the two-year-old,
old soul kept beat.


Author’s Note:

Hopeless. Fear. Anger. This pretty much sums up my last two weeks. Maybe you feel the same.

Today I broke with routine and gathered myself up to head out to North Denver on an invitation from a friend. It is a place I don’t visit often anymore. At one time in my life, I was there everyday. I went to Holy Family High School in the neighborhood. Like everything else, the place has changed.

Today, I went to a coffee shop, Tenn Street Coffee, across the street from where my high school once resided. The barista, Tad,  and I spoke of theatre, our connection in this big world. With coffee and breakfast burrito, I made my way to my friend who invited me.

This morning’s group plays the fourth Saturday of the month from 10:00 am till 12:00 pm. The Hoagies were a delight. I love this music. My friend knows me well.

Midway through the morning, it happened. We were chatting and clapping and snapping and enjoying the tunes when she began. It started with a whisper of people peering around a corner. Soon, by a hand, she appeared in front of the combo.

Her hair was a muss of light golden sweetness. She looked around but was drawn quickly back into the music. I’m not good with ages this young, but she certainly wasn’t much more than two, if that.

An old soul stood in front of us moving to the music. It was as if we were transported back in time to a jazz room filled with smoke and a dancer who commanded the attention away from the band without even realizing anyone was watching.

Music filled this little one to the brim and she moved.

Hopelessness transformed into hope.

Fear melted away.

Anger didn’t stand a chance.

The children will lead. Those who are so young are still close to Source from where they came. They know. They understand. They allow themselves to feel and be carried away in trust. They know no other way. We need to learn from them.

They are our hope.

Thank you, little one, who ever you are. You brought joy into our lives today. Something I will remember.




For those of you who were there…


Louis Jordan, Chartreuse

And thank you Tad Baierlein, Tenn Street Coffee, David Estes and The Hoagies, Tennyson Street Cultural Art District, and Lisa for a great way to spend my Saturday morning. I’ll be back!


On The Eve…


I like to walk at night in the dark so I can see the stars. They give me hope. Or, I walk in the morning well before the sun rises, before the creamsicle glow announces a new day.

In those hours I feel safe surrounded by that which I cannot see, but trust my dear beast will protect me if need arises. I want to feel the chill and be enveloped in the vast deepness and blazing silence where truth is hidden in the promise of hope. You know hope, those little twinkling lights I can only see when it’s dark.

Tonight on our walk I held a small stone to my chest, next to my heart where the energy of that swirling green chakra resides, the entry into Spirit, my Love. And I asked for all my fears deep within the darkness of my soul, all my hates that tighten my chest, all the hurts that have been hurled at me and captured – I asked that this simple stone be the chariot, the wagon, the wings to take this pain and hold it for a moment.

I walked with my mantram soothing my mind and giving time for those unwelcome guests to surround my tiny rock and attach themselves.

Under the skies sprinkled with hopes, I released the stone to Earth Mother. She will welcome that teeny piece of her back home again. She will do what she does best. Pachamama will take what no longer serves me, that which I have allowed to hold me in its grip, and she will cleanse it. Those hurts and pains and fears will become new soil in which to plant. Our sweet Mother will take them and bury them deep within her for transformation.

And in the promised spring, there will be richness to welcome new growth and life and beauty.

I pledge…

I will trust Spirit and give myself fully.

I will be a voice for beauty and song to fill the world with hope.

I will honor life and use my actions, everything I do, to uplift and offer more hope.

I will walk on Pachamama with grace and gentleness in gratitude for all I have been given.

I will live simply in work and play and all I do to keep my heart free and clear to receive more so I can be a watercourse for Spirit back into the world.


This day and everyday
may I speak impeccably.
May I work with honesty.
May I make art with a joyful heart.
May I forgive with ease and humility.
And may I love without exception.

This night and every night,
I bless you all and
all who pass this way
with peace and compassion
in great gratitude.