In time, you stop gathering things and begin to collect moments. You learn to draw a deep furrowed line in the world to hedge off the chaos and begin to measure life by the wealth of blessing without sorrow and suffering that has spurned evil for good. At long last, you cease competition and cleave…
Tag: Poetry
Winter Sweep
The fire crackles hot, while I drink steaming mugs of tea on the run. I would like to pause to mark these moments laden with winter beauty, the icy limbs of barren branches, the silver silence of powder snowfall, the midnight, moonlight sparkle of downy flake, and the blinding sting of noonday. But my closets…
Canadian Geese
Suspended in mid-air between heaven and earth, they soar. No preparations—not for a nano second do they fret, stew, holdback, or shirk this 3,000-mile, seasonal passage. Oh, those black wings beating over and through the windy currents. Heads held high. Hearts pumping fortitude for the long haul, and eyes focused due south. Inner radar, as…
Four Words
“Bunny” became one of my granddaughter’s first words and first security-blanket, stuffed-animal-companions, leaving her side momentarily with great heartbreak—only accidentally to fall behind the crib for a few seconds or to succumb to a thorough scrubbing in the washing machine. This brought on tears and angst. Another cuddly rabbit was added to her collection for…
Today I Ate Hair
Subconsciously seeking a distraction, I mindlessly flipped through the photos on my Instagram feed. I had been mulling over the day and especially a curious happening at an outdoor mall. Wayne and I had gone out to do a little Christmas shopping and walked in separate directions, agreeing to meet again later. The day was…
Healing
The river of disappointment and sorrow—the one that catches in your throat and you swallow back, the one that stings your eyes hot with betraying tears—if you release that pain to stream freely, it will push out, out to empty itself into the vast deep of the salty ocean brine that scrubs clean the wound….
1000 Generations!
My maternal grandmother and mother have been the caretakers of an old Bible that belonged to my great grandparents, William and Grace Coston. It’s huge and heavy—almost too big and cumbersome to read from my lap. The tattered leather cover is bound by an old brass clasp, and it’s pages are yellowed and fragile. Both…
Summer Garden
I can stand for hours in the midst of a summer garden—awash in silence— save a symphony of lilting birdsong, babbling brook, and the rustling of wind through weeping willows, the wild lilac, and dripping wisteria. I can wait there—longer than the darkness and sorrow of night—longer than the brassy banging of a mad world….
You Always Knew
Little, lively Vivie ran passed the colorful and showy hibiscus blossoms—some as as big as plates—and passed the endearing cabbage faces of old perfumed roses, to hold and behold a small, common garden offering. This wasn’t a flower famous for fragrance or beauty or anything, and still it’s slender stalk with purple velvet petals, captured…
Shades of Violet
When I was in the seventh grade, a new girl checked into our homeroom class named Darla Star. She shone like a beacon in a dark sky with her curly raven hair, beaming brown eyes, and confident smile. To this day, I think those magenta suede go-go boots, that she glamorously paraded, gave her a…
Bonnie Saul Wilks 