Welcome. This memorial website celebrates the life and writings of 

Penny "Penroe" Walker Bosselmann as introduced by her loving husband, David. 

Linger, ponder and treasure her words of wisdom.

by David Bosselmann with Barbara Krause

 

Step out of time.

 

This fusion of biography, poetry and memoir illustrates the gift of a rare perspective, an encounter with the authentic self. When all labels are stripped away, what is left? Feel Penny's creative spirit move you to unparalleled heights; witness the presence of her sage owl, her animal totem; and be empowered by her words of wisdom.

 

Rejuvenation is yours: New moments inspired by the natural world; new purpose, beauty, and acceptance of circumstances; and a new understanding of the connectivity to all. With unguarded heart, open to the life and writings of Penny Walker Bosselmann, Nature Mystic, poet, dancer, singer, movement therapist, and soul mate of husband, David.

 

Step into wisdom.

 

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David has gifted me with an opportunity for creative expression. I thank him.

–Barbara Krause

 

Each client holds amazing possibilities. Story, background, relationships, vision, and surprise each play a role in my writing projects. I began working with David Bosselmann as an editor for his manuscript, a biography tribute to Penny, his soul mate, wife, and best friend. Originally, David’s audience was family and friends. Read more...

Penny's poem that inspired the title of David's book:

When Penny viewed change through nature’s eyes, transitions became possibilities: the courage of cilia peeking through the snow, tree blossoms becoming leaves or caterpillars emerging as striking butterflies. Amid endless time and changing forms, energy is constant. It is a powerful witness.

Cold Rain

September 25, 1996

 

As we count time,

thunder is not even a step

behind the jagged line

of light in the night sky.

 

And as we count time,

I run from the woods 

fast enough to leave 

me standing here on the

front porch, cold, but dry,

watching the rain.

 

The garden will be washed clean.

Evergreens ready for sleep, though

they look the same as a month ago.

 

The pansies will die, of course,

and as we count time,

will be gone forever, unless

they bloom, purple and white

in another field without time.

 

What will you and I be when the snow

comes? You 

a bear, asleep by your desk?

 

Whatever animal I become

will take up its sadness

and whatever joy, and

come to the river, wait

there until snow fall, white

pansies that vanish on

the water.

 

If the animal of myself

makes a sound, it

will be a lot like singing.

Penny's favorites: