A Blessing at the Turning Point

Hello beloved reader,

Last week I finished a 4-week, intensely productive Book Proposal Masterclass with the English author Beth Kempton. I’ve now submitted my proposal to one agent with perhaps more submissions on the horizon.

May this book find its right match with a publisher and arrive in its true home.
May the contract I sign be aligned, generous, and sustaining—a partnership rooted in mutual respect and shared vision.
May I bring this book into physical form, so it can take its place in the world and land in the hearts of those who are ready to receive its message.

And an offering to you my dear reader:

A Blessing for the Summer Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere

inspired by the spirit of John O’Donohue

May the long light of this day
fall gently across your path,
illuminating the beauty that has quietly grown within you.

May you feel the earth warm beneath your feet,
steady and ancient,
reminding you that your being belongs here.

May the fullness of summer
speak to the ripening of your gifts—
not in haste, but in deep, patient trust
that what is yours will come in its time.

May you find shelter beneath wide skies,
and courage in the face of your own vast becoming.
May the fire of the sun awaken a fire in you—
not of striving, but of blessed joy,
of presence so complete it burns through fear.

May this season open in you
a gentle space of wonder—
where you can rest in the truth
that light is not a thing to strive for,
but a gift already given,
bestowed by the ancient breath of Mother Earth and Father Sky.

And as the days begin to shorten again,
may the memory of this radiance
remain held within you
like a flame alight in the essence of your soul.

photo taken by the author in Temple, New Hampshire

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A Blessing for the Winter Solstice in the Southern Hemisphere

also inspired by the spirit of John O’Donohue

May this longest night draw you inward,
into the fertile darkness where unseen things take root.
May the hush of winter invite you
to soften, to listen, to become still enough
to hear what your soul has been whispering.

May you find comfort in the quiet
and rest in the knowing
that the earth herself is in retreat—
not as an ending, but as preparation.

May the cool air clear your mind,
and the pale light cleanse your vision,
reminding you that slowing down is sacred.

May this season cradle you gently,
so you can meet your own shadow
not as a threat, but as a teacher.

May the invisible growth of this time
nourish the parts of you that bloom in secret—
the dreams still tender, the healing still hidden.

And as the light begins to return,
may you carry its promise within you—
a seed of becoming,
a soft turning toward what’s next.

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