And here we find ourselves again, in old and new and could have been. Not should have– for we cannot see nor feign to know what ought to be…
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The quarter century dawned as the heart within her longed for the days of passing to be everlasting, but she could not yet hear heaven’s song…
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Sprout up and grow. Come close and know that all great trees start as seeds. Listen and heed till you come to believe…
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Washed in the water of deep breaths and brightness, shining down in rays of light and wind in flight. Coming and going to and fro…
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And here lies a full heart. Do not disturb its gentle rest, for peace has come upon it such as any man be blessed…
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Scales balanced, eyes turned to the value market learned: compare the subtle leanings ensnared in double meanings, entirely believing this is fair…
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Few places are better than a library: Quiet contentment and books to read, spaces to sit and to contemplate, where no one will ask– are you done with your plate?
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Lean in, listen close, take the time to smell the rose. Enclose its petals in your hands. O dear, won’t you forsake your plans…
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Your heart is steady, not missing a beat, but I close my eyes and all I see are leaves. The signal of change, so deep and so high, that newness is impossible to deny…
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Peace be with you. Peace be with me. If I say it and I mean it, will it be easier to believe?
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I saw my image in the mirror. I’d seen before, but this time, clearer. I heard my voice repeat the claim, but this time, I was listening…
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It was a four-legged table, as most tables are, with one of its stilts falling apart. Though someone had “fixed” it and given their best…
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Sunlight filters through, holding still among leaves that move and sway with whispers on the wind, yet never carried off and away, deeply rooted—they near us stay.
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Holding fast what is past, wishing for the moment last seen on screen behind the eyes. Telling, but your heart yet lies in wake of waves from wondering…
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Flowers I can’t rearrange. Flowers painted in a vase, in a frame, and on my wall, left that way for one and all…
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Windswept. Unkept. Turning on a table yet– Not so, even though, feels like I have much to go. Can’t see in front of me…
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Like soot to a fireplace, dust soon takes its place upon the books on my shelf, so too upon my brow…
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Beauty is simple. A candle. A rose. The scent of lavender left on my bones. Time is a taker, but he does not waste…
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The light takes time to shine. No reason to hurry it finds, for the bird’s song is the backdrop of becoming…
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Were that I was a blank canvas, pure and unstained, ready to receive the day’s promise of an image newly stayed. For an oak tree’s outstretched branches…
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