I lie looking out my windows my thoughts framed in four parts.I see the feeble efforts of a sun trying to dictate new rules tothe snow-baked ground,all the while the tress remains silent.They are sleepy, very very sleepy and are not willing to speak.Then I saw him,bright red, and winged, perched on a sleep-soaked bough.he stared at me and I stared right back,he troubled my thoughts and I resisted, clever red-winged bird unnamed to me I clicked my mind shut to…
There was nothing to prepare me for home-schooling, as there was no preparation for Covid-19, and lest I forget, there was no preparation for the impact you made on my life the first time that I saw you. A bit wrinkled and very pink with spiked hedgehog hair, hair that defied the brush, refused a ribbon as it stood up straight, black and shiny. I decided to leave it alone after a few attempts to create order. We gurgled together,…
Because nature brings me life, I cherish the spots I find this life beauty and nature are one and the same. I chose life.
The year always end with Christmas, that is if you are a Christian or affected by Christianity and the Advent of Jesus’ coming into the world. It also ends without Advent for the non-Christians who engage in an elaborate time of gift giving and partying and a general jollyfication geared toward having as much fun as possible and then some. Those are the two sides of the Christmas coin. at times I have been on both sides of this coin…
We have to eat the world slowly. Ten years, 25 years, forty years, 62 years, 95 years. No rush. Small bites. This world is an overpowering place capable of squeezing the life out of you while all the while you are laughing with extreme joyful pleasure. We each get a single experience called life, but it is such a vast and complex experience that we must break it into bits to relish the fullness, or not. Some of my friends…
A question posed at lunch while in Barnes & Noble. (Bookshops should not have food, though I enjoy the meals, eating in a bookshop destroys the essence and aesthetics of a Bookshop, but never mind…for now). She suddenly looked up from her book and bowl of Mac & Cheese topped with crumbled Bacon and said, “Grandma, what happens to your imaginary friend when you stop talking to it?” Taken aback, I…
Poetry, not the rush of untamed Prose is the language of Creation. Unbound, punctuated with nature’s photographs, to still your heart sensitive only to the soft rush of sounds that pass as words that only you can decipher, in your silence, a gray morning when God Himself passes as a vapor across the sands where Angels’ feet imprinted time past. can anyone know your heart? Its only the wind that whispers and you collect the words as music/chords/notes/vibrations/desires/color…
Once more into the breach we must all go. But before you go, I charge you to carry these words by Tennyson tucked deep in your heart; “Though much is taken, much abides; and though we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to…