My mother received her heavenly crown in March 2020. This year, Dad was moved to a care facility and recently to hospice. Their house sold last week. They purchased several years ago after Dad retired from decades of serving in the ministry. It was the first house they owned. I reflected recently on my lack … More There was no childhood in that house for me
No one can return to youyour suitcases, worn thin with timenow stacked against a wall in rows— of course — Let me put your shoes on for you…we’ll get you something nice to wear— first let’s get you a coat —cover you up It’s hard to discern nice from right— sometimes — when we’re warmand … More the air is warm
The white and pink blossom hinted at honey.Such a small and delicate thing to hold so many memories.Standing as still as the tree — trunk to trunk, root to root —With the sun on my back and a world on my shoulders,An as-it-will breeze ruffled petals and consciousness. A honeybee danced at the corner of … More To simply be
I know a dying leaf when I see one,it’s plump life being sucked backinto the branch that once gave it life,so the branch could live leathered span of serrated lobeslit by fall’s flame in a slow burn that creepsalong a landscape of conceding cells,puffing out the last of summer’s spirit the spirit of a more … More I know a dying leaf when I see one
I know.I see it.Movement. Clustered tips of arborvitaebend with the breezeand I want to be in that supple exchangeof breath and life. Thick botanic pillarsbound in ruffled spraysof green, fan over fanhand in hand, as one,yet varied as thought. Is this not faith and gracein one fragrant tower, a signand shadow of our shape,from Edenic … More what is it about today?
On March 21, 2020, at the start of the COVID times, the last thing and the thing not to be was one and the same. Such a mundane thing to now have so much meaning. I still have the list. The day Mom’s soul departed for heaven, March 22, will always be memorable, but the … More the list
April is national poetry month. Poetry is a genres of literature that is seems people love or hate…and, like a delicate souffle, what’s created either works or it doesn’t. When it works, it can take you to the highest heaven or punch you square in the gut. When it doesn’t…well…the best it can get is … More National Poetry Month: Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons”
It’s Good Friday…the day Christ gave His all…the day the Father turned from His only begotten Son because of the unholiness of the sin of the world covering Him…the day Jesus, the Christ, the only Son of God, fulfilled all He came to do and said, “It is finished.” It is a sad day…and yet, … More Good Friday: who dieth thus dies well
I have been thinking about the novel for a week. Thinking. That’s it. I’ve sat down three times to see if I can get words on paper. Nothing. Creativity feels like a fair-weather friend these days. I’m mainly focusing on presentations, spreadsheets, meetings, spousing (I’m calling it a word today), parenting, childing (also calling it … More I. Am. Stuck.
A crust had formed upon the snowA weighty blanket pressing downWhile soil and roots cradle deepAround the shell in which you sleep It made you seem much further stillAs I mused and mourned a whileThe joy of you would warm the dayWhether frigid air – or hearts – dismay Green and red push through the … More Reflection from a graveside in winter
a tilting of air 