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Julie G is on page 24 of 80

Each of us is given
only so many mornings to do it--
to look around and love
the oily fur of our lives,
the hoof and the grass-stained muzzle.
Days I don't do this
I feel the terror of idleness,
like a red thirst.
Death isn't just an idea.
When we die, the body breaks open
like a river;
the old body goes on, climbing the hill.

— Jan 25, 2026 03:32PM

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Julie’s Previous Updates

Julie G is on page 67 of 80

If I had another life
I would want to spend it all on some
unstinting happiness.

I would be a fox, or a tree
full of waving branches.
I wouldn't mind being a rose
in a field full of roses.

Fear has not yet occurred to them, nor ambition.
Reason they have not yet thought of.
Neither do they ask how long they must be roses, and then what.
Or any other foolish question.

— Jan 25, 2026 05:55PM

Julie G is on page 59 of 80

what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled--
to cast aside the weight of facts
and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.
I want to believe I am looking
into the white fire of a mystery.
I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing--
that the light is everything--that it is more than the sum
of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.

— Jan 25, 2026 05:45PM

Julie G is on page 56 of 80

For hours I had tried to sleep
and failed;
restless and wild,

I could settle on nothing
and fell, in envy
of the things of darkness
following their sleepy course--

— Jan 25, 2026 05:37PM

Julie G is on page 40 of 80

the lilies
are slippery and wild--they are
devoid of meaning, they are
simply doing,
from the deepest
spurs of their being,
what they are impelled to do
every summer.
And so, dear sorrow, are you.

— Jan 25, 2026 05:20PM

Julie G is on page 29 of 80

Is there anything more important
than hunger and happiness? Each bee entered
the frills of a flower to find
the sticky fountain, and if some dust
spilled on the walkways of the petals
and caught onto their bodies, I don't know
if the bees know that otherwise death
is everywhere, even in the red swamp
of a flower. But they did this
with no small amount of desperation--you might say: love.

— Jan 25, 2026 04:32PM

Julie G is on page 17 of 80

the path to heaven
doesn't lie down in flat miles,
It's in the imagination
with which you perceive
this world,
and the gestures
with which you honor it.

— Jan 25, 2026 05:36AM