To spurn all of this— To credit no one for the systematic order and glory of the universe—that He spoke into existence by the breath of a Word, conceived by the sharp-edge of wit, unmatched, cared for by the extravagant heart of a benevolent Father, and held together by the surge and swell of unbending…
Tag: poets
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…
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….
Language to the Poet
A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language. –W. H. Auden
Tapping Bird
For two days, a little, lost cardinal has been tapping on our front door, trying to get in. He certainly has been insistent. Tap, tap, rapping at our door. I quickly snapped this picture of the little lost creature. He flew away as soon as he saw someone inside, but he came right back….
‘Certain Slant of Light’
“Evening Light” by Gina Wright, Scottish Painter I love this painting. I get lost in the evening light. I imagine myself sitting on the craggy coast with the spray of ocean water pounding the rocks, the cold and salty air, the wind, the chill, the distant, lost, and lonely feeling as darkness falls.
Bonnie Saul Wilks 