A happy new year, like a gift leftover waiting to be opened, nestles snugly under those pinecones and plaid ribbons that escaped the great Christmas-put-away. And, with boxes to the basement, our former selves like decorations are set aside. We've changed. We may not think so, but we have. The new date dictates facts without consent, and time is not only a whole year older in a day, we're different. The blessed kiss of Christmas has touched our souls for the umpteenth time

I don't hate this! I love it! This may seem like an odd list, for we aren’t supposed to hate anything, are we?  Oh, but that’s where we’re wrong.  Six things the Lord hates, yea, seven are an abomination to Him.  Seven, the perfect seven—the things to hate. ~   I hate pride, especially in myself.  I especially hate spiritual pride— the pride that keeps track of one’s own “good deeds” and spoils them all by announcing them and expecting something in return.  ~    I hate unf

Ever since I was a toddler, I have loved tiny containers— little plastic suitcases, wood boxes, and secret hideaway places like built-in closets and drawers.  I loved the little plastic farm and zoo animals at Ben Franklin’s and McCrory’s. I have always loved shells and even used to have dreams where I walked the beach and found hundreds of unique shells, which I collected in breathless ecstasy. ~ I loved collecting pictures of nature from old calendars and sometimes wrote li

The shadow of a leaf descending past my windowpane                         Shutters autumn’s sun amid the fervent afternoon.                          Rejoining fellow fallen leaves along the frostbit lawn,                         The leaf rests warmly blazoned before the year is gone.                                     We thank the Lord for fallen things—for blessings here below,                         For rain above the dismal heights not yet bedecked with snow,...

Why does fall cause a lump in my throat, a bursting of my heart, a flaming nostalgia to awaken the past still slumbering in childhood dreams? A yearning grows like rising sun to float off into sapphire skies and velvet autumn air; to kick through paths of fallen leaves and find the secret stair to harvest’s maturing sun; to swing among the maples’ goldenrods and climb the mighty oak’s scarlet and persimmon arms waving into cornflower-blue skies.  Leaves scratch sidewalks in

Like a candle on a hill you flickered In a gale of will; You smoked like flax Put out almost by slayers' pride— Agonized to shine But never cried—never Breathed a sigh of weariness   Or pain but trimmed your blackened Wick and blazed again.    Wind mocked the burning truth    You beamed all night— And scoffed that righteousness  Isn’t right—but you Smiled back—laughed, even, At the fire

Thy truth, in time, will come to light, Like patterns kissed with dawn. Oh, wait, thou window of the soul, Behold the sufferer's sun! In crucibles of love, thy panes With colors new imbued Shall scintillate with courage And sparkle forth in truth. Oh, rest in darkness for awhile, Thy glass stained black for death-- A conqueror's fire shall soon burst forth And crown thy shame in health. For Time a third dimension br

Sunlight on a bird wing And moonlight on a rose— Silver threads of heaven Woven into gold— Breaths of mountain...

For all the hopes that died with time, For all the dreams now dust-- For all the trinkets of the past Encrusted now...

I loved you in your perfect health When duty filled your day-- I love you now in shifting sands Where no one knows...

To heal is to grow older And leave a special scar-- To square the aching shoulder And still the pounding heart . . ....

We travel numb across the years In lonely hours of thought-- Remember all that Time has brought And crown Today with...

Faith smells a flower in winter, when all is dormant and dead; Sees beyond tangible darkness a glorious sunrise...

Life knows some hours of poetry But most of them are prose-- Some treasured notes of symphony, Far more of monotones....

Cooled air summons under starlight . . . night bugs pulse minor triads; slugs glide shiny trails in the streetlight between shadows . . ....

I love the calm, slate-gray mornings After a middle-night thunderstorm When rain still drips from a dome of trees, How...

We so often hear the sound of a thought without thinking. God is God. And we rush right on, wanting something more. There is no more. We...

A touch of love and petals open, blossoms burst through snowy bark, eaglets dare the mountain gorges, songbirds giggle...

All I want out of life is Heaven--Adam's Eden is long dead . . . But sometimes still a buttercup evening springs Gold shadows...

Waves, tumbling broken shells in the unbroken crash and hush of tide, skidding to shore and crawling backwards, spent, subdued, gurgle...