To Be Yourself Is to Be - July 2017


Nancy Wood poem poster 12: To be yourself is to be


From Many Winters, 1974, by Nancy Wood


To be yourself is to be

Alone with the wind crying

When all that you ask for is

The warmth of a human fire.


Mother's Words - June 2017

From Spirit Walker, 1993, by Nancy Wood


Why look for answers, my child,

Among the people you meet?

Why believe there is fulfillment

In your narrow life of work?


Why sacrifice the gift of loneliness

To fill up the time with diversion?


Look inside every living thing you find.

Feel the energy of rocks and leaves, hummingbirds

and cactus.

Dwell for a moment in a single blade of grass.

Discover the secret of snowflakes.


In these patterns lie harmony, my child.

In harmony, the universe.



Nancy's Literary Family


Kate and India, 1973. Photo by Myron Wood.

Kate and India, 1973. Photo by Myron Wood.

Two of Nancy's four children are writers. Kate Lynch is working on several manuscripts for the children’s and YA markets. India Wood has finished the manuscript of her memoir, The Dinosaur's Daughter.

Nancy's second husband was Myron Wood, whose photos appeared in several of Nancy's books. Myron's daughter from his first marriage, Margaret Wood, has written two books about her years as Georgia O’Keeffe’s caregiver: A Painter’s Kitchen and Remembering Miss O’Keeffe.



Invitation to Life - May 2017

From Dancing Moons, 1995, by Nancy Wood


I invite you to life

and you send regrets.

Sorry can't come, too late or

too soon, too busy, too scared,

Too much involved in the business of living.


The reasons you give

are a song all their own.

off-key and shallow, with the sound

of avoidance, the rhythm

Familiar, the words echoing the same old excuses.


I'll issue no more invitations

to you. The party's been

cancelled, the guests won't arrive

in time to find me having


A dance all my own. You see,


I invited myself to my life

and finally accepted.


The Beads of Life - April 2017

From Dancing Moons, 1995, by Nancy Wood


The space between events is where

most of life is lived. Those half-remembered moments

of joy or sadness, fear or disappointment, are merely

beads of life strung together

to make one expanding necklace of experience.


The space between events is where

we grow old. From sunrise to sunset one day lives

as another day emerges from the fluid womb of dawn,

the first bead strung upon

the everlasting thread of life.


The space between events is where

knowledge marries beauty. In quiet reflection

we remember only the colored outline of events,

the black and white of war, the rosiness

that surrounded our first love.


The space between events is why

we go on living. The laughter of a child or

the sigh of wind in a canyon becomes the music

we hear expanding in our hearts each time

we gather one more bead of life.

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