The Story of my Blog Title

Quilt of Dragonflies- My blog is named that for a reason.I am lucky enough to own a genuine Quilt of Dragonflies, which I am sure brings me good dreams when I sleep beneath it. It was given to me by a friend of my mother's, who handmade the entire thing. Color meets pattern in this fantastic piece of artwork which sits on my bed. Brilliant shades of purple, blue, and green intersperse with tie dye dragonflies. I will not hesitate to call it my inspiration.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Five Sentence Fiction: Vision

What is FSF? Each week, Lillie McFerrin posts a wonderful one word prompt here. I am horribly inconsistent about keeping up with FSF, but now that I am on school vacation, I am trying to stretch my writing muscles once again. Merry Christmas to everyone, and I hope that all is good as we head rapidly towards the new year. I am excited for a fresh year of possibilities and poetry, and hopefully this blog will see some action as the result of a resolution to keep writing. This week's FSF word is vision.


When the Bing Crosby version of White Christmas came on the radio, she sang along loudly, her voice heating the car and filling it with a jollity and festive air that she loved. As the little VW Beetle wound its way up through the mountains sugar coated with snow, she flipped on her headlights and wind shield wipers. The snow was coming down fast, making her feel very alone on the dark roads with miles to go before she reached her destination. 

Perhaps it could have been avoided, had her boyfriend decided to come with her to her parents' house for Christmas. 

Perhaps with another set of eyes, she would have sensed the pick up speeding the opposite way, covered by the dark blanket of falling snow.

Confessions of the Wandering Poet: Haikus

Haikus are for (in this case) the 
frightened poet
the (this) restless mind, wandering in search of their soul
unable to set themselves free
slapping down syllables
burrowing ideas deep within
meandering through lines
hiccuping phrases, the quiet one at the breakfast table
thinking into her glass of juice
never a complete thought
there-and gone with a flash
this poet is unsure
a coward
(she's me). 

Saturday, December 22, 2012


A few hesitant
Flakes fall from the slate grey sky
Not enough for me

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

A haiku for this season

On the streets, shared smiles
Each opening their heart to
This season of joy

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

A Prayer for Newtown

a candle burns in remembrance
sitting in my heart
gusts of thoughts make the candle quiver
the flame burns on

Reflections on Being Swedish

The sky outside was still dark as whispered voices and muffled footsteps echoed throughout the house. In the early hours of the morning, the kettle hummed and a little girl dressed herself all in white. A tray was loaded with tea and lussekatter, saffron buns sprinkled with pearl sugar and shaped into swirls. Three young heads bobbed up the stairs, glowing in the light of candles. As the door to the master bedroom was eased open, quivering voices began to sing. “Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia.”

I was the girl clad in white with a red sash and a crown of candles, followed resolutely each year by my brothers into the room of my parents on that frigid morning in December. In that moment, my face sparkling in the glow of the plastic lights on my head, I was Saint Lucia, reenacting the rescue of the poor peasants in Sweden on a dark night long ago, saved by a glowing presence in white who offered them food and comfort. I grew up with the story of Saint Lucia, and each year on the thirteenth of December, I lived the life of a Swede.

I will always be proud to say that I am one sixteenth Swedish. My household growing up was not of one rich cultural background, I did not come home to a second language, and I do not have one direct country of origin. Instead, out of a melting pot of European countries, there arose a love of my Swedish heritage, and I grew up knowing of my ancestors from Sweden and holding in my heart a country other than the United States. Each year, I lovingly arranged our dala horses, brightly painted in blues and reds, and read the story of the mischievous Tompte, the little spirit man who visits farms at night to bless the inhabitants. I heard news of our distant cousins living in Sweden, and occasionally thumbed through photo albums of the trip to Sweden that was made when I was two years old. Although I do not remember Sweden, it has played a large role in my childhood years and as I begin to understand my heritage.

While it may seem easy for those who are directly descended from a particular ethnic background to celebrate their culture, it is equally important for those of us who are made up of many stories and many nations to learn and to live remembering who we are. Though I may not be able to trace every country my relatives have come from, I am able to rejoice in my Swedish traditions, to proudly show up each year for the annual tree trimming at my family’s Swedish Lodge and to dance around the Christmas tree, butchering the Swedish words to every song.

Five Sentence Fiction: Devotion

What is FSF? Each week, Lillie McFerrin posts a wonderful one word prompt here. I am horribly inconsistent about keeping up with FSF, but now that I am on school vacation, I am trying to stretch my writing muscles once again. This week's word is devotion.

Each day, early in the morning when the mist clung to the tree tops and the family was asleep, Mae tip toed down the stairs and eased open the front door. The grass was cool under her feet, and she felt goose bumps rise on her arms as she scurried towards the pines and the the cool dirt that lay beneath. This was Mae's quiet time, the time when her younger brothers drooled onto their pillow cases and her parents, exhausted, stayed in bed. When Mae reached the roots of one pine tree, she stopped, and crouched down to gaze at a small green shoot peeking above the soil. This was Mae's special time, and to her, this plant was magical. 

Book Recommendation

Recommendation: Les Miserables

Well, I am officially a slacker in regards to this blog, and I am so sorry for not staying in touch with this blog. My life this term has been incredibly busy, my schoolwork demanding but exciting. Now that it is vacation, I have been getting back in touch with my vacation self, reading, knitting, writing, and taking pictures. Coming into vacation I knew that I wanted to read the classic French novel Les Miserables before the release of the new movie on Christmas day. I am a huge fan of the musical, and I love to read classics, so I sat down contented with reading the 1200 page chunk of literature.

This book is a masterfully crafted book of a different era, so be prepared for a level of detail similar to Charles Dickens. Victor Hugo writes about many, many characteristics of the human spirit, and it is impossible not to be touched by the struggles of the people you encounter. Set in the early 1800's in France, Les Mis is a story of epic proportions, a story of love and betrayal, hatred, justice, and resolutions. While it can be difficult to follow at some points due to the volume of characters and information, every sentence is beautiful, and Victor Hugo knows how to make a reader laugh and cry. I recommend it to anyone willing to read the whole book, anyone who is looking for a read that captures a time period and a group of people perfectly.

Sunday, December 16, 2012


it's a nagging pain, like a splinter
a throb every once in awhile
to make me remember

then those thoughts flood in
leisurely lunches spent laughing
cold days trudging along together
our misty breath mingling in the chilled air

memories send tiny pin pricks up and down my spine
sometimes i cannot bare them
but never can i spend a day without them

when we meet again
whisper dreams into my ear
and i will listen