We all have a story.

My path has never been linear.  I was an empath first. This was problematic in a Catholic household and to this day I keep my skills from family as some (dad) have panic attacks when I am simply trying to be helpful with a prediction.

Which brings me to the first time I ‘heard’ a line of poetry, I was in Montreal, taking a summer walk with my child. It came like one hears the wind, a soft whisper, ‘Summertime snow, where dandelions grow…”


I heard this line of poetry for 10 years, outside, with no pen and no paper. By the time I came back inside, the line was gone and I stared at a blank page, pen in hand…nothing came. If I brought a piece of paper and pen and placed it in my purse, the paper would be later found shredded to pieces and the pen leaking ink in the bottom of my purse.


My first smart phone was an Iphone 3g, the first of it’s kind. I remember it well, I was leaning on the glass at the bus transit station in Westmount, a section of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada waiting for the bus. I heard the familiar whisper coming from within as if a faraway train announcing it’s arrival. I panicked, found my new smartphone in my purse, frantically typed in the password, clicked on the notes section and feverishly began to type as my bus was arriving at the terminal.

Summertime Snow

Where the Daffodils grow