Sheela Wolford, Writer

11/24/2025

11/22/2025

How can there be an ocean between us? One that scares me every time I travel over it to you? No, we must drain that water, down to the sentiments and I’ll walk to you; I’ll walk across the ocean to you. And you’ll see me appear at your door or your school, but I’ll be there and together we’ll run to the playground, the swings, and we’ll bundle up your little brother and swiftly travel down the sidewalks of your town, past the charity shops, roses, magpies and people clipping along on their day. With my dirty feet, you’ll laugh at me and gather mum for council. We’ll drag our bodies home, past the red mailbox, streetlights on, birds asleep, land everywhere, and no water to separate us in sight.

“Grandson”, 11/22/25, sdw

11/19/2025

You cannot have my joy; it is not for sale, but rather pours liberally from my senses of being and belonging. A concoction made only for me; there’s plenty for you, now go look into the forests of your heart.
Let me know what you find. “Joy”, sdw,
11/19/25

11/17/2025

11/17/2025

Leonard Cohen – Hallelujah (Official Live in London 2008) Shop LPs and more: https://shop.sonymusic.ca/collectio...

11/16/2025

We have these miracles sprout up as we muddle through our days, heavy feet, broken hearts, weathered and weary, yet we turn among these seedlings and we witness
the rush of becoming again and again

And if we choose it, if we do,
we’re the lucky ones provided abandon and a freedom known only in the thick of love.

Sdw 11/13/25

11/16/2025

On November 2, 2025, 38 years to when I was delivering her sister, Leila gave birth to her son, Hudson! We are over the moon with joy! He is darling and precious.

Here is a poem I wrote while waiting to hear of his arrival:

I drink my coffee and feel the urgency, the air is calm, but cannot soothe my stuttering heart that knows today could bring the first draw of breath to my grandson on the same day of my daughter’s birth, decades ago -when I stared at the newspaper heading on the hospital table that read “The Day of the Dead” and I felt the wonder and confusion, - knowing those who have passed were being celebrated as now a new life enters through the same pathway.

How perfect I think, one passageway, always open, eternally fresh and new. One that allowed my girl to come through and now introduces and directs her youngest nephew.

I decide my father must be close by, smiling, face rising above the Franklin Mountains, greeting this new day from his homeland, waving goodbye to the young lad off to meet his brother, and blowing a kiss to me, his girl, his child.

“On my daughter’s birthday and quite possibly, the day of her nephew’s first breath”, Nov. 2, 25 sdw

Welcome Hudson!