A battle between
light and dark
waged across the
morning sky.
Clouds shifted in
the swirling wind,
tilting the earth,
causing me to wobble.
I felt confused.
For a moment, darkness
appeared victorious,
blocking the light,
lessening its powerful pull.
But light remained,
rays now dispersed.
An influence
so far-reaching, the
horizon glowed a
reassuring golden hue.
Just then, I remembered
yesterday’s rainbow, and
how the sky glowed
following its fading.
You walked the perimeter
in slow, cautious steps-
Overhanging branches
providing protection, along
with the morning mist-
I felt fortunate to see you,
to once again witness
your grace and beauty –
I wonder if your babies
are sleeping nearby, or
If you are on a survey mission,
assessing whether or not
It is safe for them
to hop, jump, and play
in the damp green grass-
Safety is always a
concern, I suppose-
Even when children are
grown, it isn’t easy
not to continue feeling
the need to keep walking
along the perimeter
My hands are beginning
to remind me of Mom’s-
Her hands remind me
of Grandma’s
Skin grows thinner
Simple bruises turn
unreasonably large and
take longer to heal
But wear and tear is
proof of living life
to its fullest, right?
And our hands serve as
an extension of our hearts
When my fists unclench
Anger is easily released
When my hand lingers,
gently holding yours,
hurts quickly disappear
An excess of love
and kindness
graciously offered
as precious proof
A beautiful paradox-
Strength in weakness
A swath of deep, dark
purple appeared, the
top layer of sunrise,
oranges and golds
rising underneath.
The horizon, their
steady starting line.
The nearby Morning Star
inscribed words of comfort
in silver lettering across the layers.
Here I am. You are not alone.
Words I have received,
written down, and shared
on many occasions.
But today, for a moment,
It felt as though I was
receiving them for the first time.
Why these words this morning?
Perhaps to reinforce a truth
experienced in recent days
as a renewed promise.
Even when all is not well,
You will be okay
Enjoying a few days in Chicago. My first visit! Grateful for time away with the guy pictured below. 😘
Graceful arms propel her forward
Legs gently float behind
Feet periodically kick-
Not forceful, only enough
to maintain momentum
Where is she heading?
Storm clouds line the horizon
She’s passed through them before
Impossible to avoid-
And time, impossible to control
The bright sun warms her face
Grace holds her heart
Mercy lifts her soul
Momentum is maintained
Perhaps the question is not
where she is headed
but instead, how she
sustains a spirit of peace
A gaggle of geese
flying overhead in
perfect formation
A formation of clouds
branching out across
the sky at sunrise
The branches of a tree
securely holding leaves
until their time to fall
Your hand holding mine
filling the empty spaces
between my fingers
Images comparable
in angle and purpose-
open and strong
Unexpected gifts
healing my heart
with their presence
Faint lines evenly divided
the morning mist
reminding me of the lines
on staff paper, waiting
for the composer’s
song to dot its
blank lines and spaces-
Or the lines in my journal
waiting for words to
fill its blank pages
A composition of melody
and harmony working
through dissonance-
A story of life and love
acknowledging the roles
of grief and loss
I’ve never considered
any possible purpose
for the morning mist
except blurring vision
and slowing travel
Perhaps today, it was
waiting for me, curious
what I would place on
its lines and in its spaces
Whether I will allow dissonance
to permeate my day, or
be peacefully resolved
in the ebb and flow
of another day
I sit quietly, mesmerized
by the path of a morning breeze
travelling from the peak
of a tall oak, downward
until each branch, each leaf
engaged in childlike song.
The entire tree danced, as if
calling me to join in
until the breeze moved on
to the loblolly across the fence.
I watch as the breeze
continues conducting.
Whole sections of the loblolly
swaying and swirling in grand gestures
like a gentle giant preparing
to pick a tiny flower.
The same breeze spoke
through both trees.
Responses varied due to
their individual states of being.
Results proved equally persuasive.
Songs my soul needed to hear.
Lessons my heart aches to understand.
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
I picture them perched
along electric wires
carefully watching
as we pass by.
I wonder what they think of us?
Are their conversations more
logical than ours? Friendlier?
They sing such sweet melodies.
Yes, they also squawk
and screech, but for a
purpose-imminent danger
or a particular need.
I can hear them now
calling each other
back and forth across
the yard, tree to tree.
Hey there! Will you fly over for a visit?
Sure! Let me finish feeding the babies.
I gathered some extra twigs to bring you!
Thank you! See you soon!
Perhaps we could learn
from the birds if we
intentionally listen
and quietly observe.
Perhaps we could learn
from each other
the exact same way…
Piano Girl 