Fingerprints

From our very first reach,
we leave lasting imprints
Tiny fingers, tiny toes
unaware of the enduring
impact engraved on
all who hold us close

Choice eventually becomes
part of the equation-
Deciding if what we leave behind
is positive, helpful, encouraging,
or cynical, hurtful, disheartening

Each imprint is personal
an identifying set of
lines and ridges
creating a pattern-
Sacred responsibility
held in every touch

I saw such a fingerprint
in the afternoon clouds-
Lines and ridges
creating a pattern
belonging to the one
who holds the sky

Simply Sunday

Which Question

After my arrival
Before my passing
How many seeds will I sew?
Whether scattered haphazardly
In knee-jerk reactions
To daily irritations or
Carefully sewn in love
With the intent to encourage
Both have the power to grow-
Seeds of frustration
Burrow deep
Expanding the crevices
In despairing hearts
Seeds of kindness
Take hold
Increasing hope
For healing hearts-
Truthfully, the results
Are not mine to know
Only my intent realized
Right before or right after
The seeds leave my hands-
After my arrival
Before my passing
What type of seeds will I sew?

Over My Shoulder

Brushstrokes
Warm oranges
Soft pinks
Painting me
Into the day
Not pushing
Encouraging
With a graceful
Good Morning
No hint of
Hurry Up or
You’re late
One glance
Over my shoulder
Yes, still there
And though
Colors may fade
Their message is clear-
Today rolls out
In front of you
Dip your toes
Into each tint
Watch as the
Canvas
Changes
With each ripple

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com