… But my heart is
Returned to sister winter
But my hands are
As cold as ice …
The days are short,
John Updike
The sun a spark
Hung thin between
The dark and dark ...
All articles filed in photography
o Love ever-burning
Who will lift the shroud of night
heaven’s light fresh to reveal
overcome death’s with’ring blight
deign our wounded hearts to heal?
wherever there is
here is a hand for you. it is here
and you are there, wherever there is.
liminality
all day i have been haunted by liminality.
the first last things. the beginnings of endings.
considering the lilies
the angel does not his own image praise
nor does the bloom amid green-bladed grass
petals
the spring-glad trees
have loosed their blossoms
The art of noticing
For me, wonder flows from paying attention to the world around me, whatever or wherever that happens to be at the moment. Paying attention to what is outside and beyond myself is necessary to get my eyes off me and onto the world God made, and then on to Himself.
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Sister Winter
I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, ‘Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.’
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hyacinthine
Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits. Carl Sandburg
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Waking up to spring
“Is the spring coming?” he said. “What is it like?”…
“It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine…”
― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden