I love a full, silvery winter moon against an icy-cold, inky-blue, clear sky. Its radiance sparkling upon freshly falling snow makes me want to stop–urgently–to “watch the meadow fill” just like my old friend, Robert Frost… and to gaze upon the moonlight sparkle-play upon the “downy frost.” There is dancing when the nighttime skylight shines…
Tag: writer’s life
Choices
Even the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow can’t buy contentment. It is illusive. Culture is abstract yet often dictates our lives in concrete measures. Choice is concrete yet seems abstract as we begin choosing how to live. The secrets of contentment, which transcend the content of our culture, is rooted in…
Language
Lofty thoughts, which become ideals and hopefully–actions like forgiveness, freedom, liberty, holiness, purity, redemption, atonement, justice, retribution, love, kindness, patience, or equality begin as seeds planted in the souls of mankind by the Spirit of God hovering upon the treasure of the universe. As we mature to grapple–chew and swallow these, they break through concrete barriers with rapid force and power like…
Shelter
She moves with stealth behind the scenes of autumn, steadily edging toward the razor cold and lacy veil of ice and crystal. Then quietly she falls, winter’s glorious mystique reveals in a day. In layers, it descends and deeper it penetrates, much more than surface. The chill and snow seeps below. But not to spurn. It’s the season of fireside reflections,…
Blurred Words
Tonight I blurred my words and remembered you, fondly. Sometimes when you blur your words with a friend—it heals your soul, and you know you’re not alone. You are not alone. The vagueness of life demands analgesic, and sharing of vulnerabilities leaves the sweetest taste. In the braided arms of convivial moments and beloved friends…
One Nod
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…
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…
Bonnie Saul Wilks 