The puddles shine like glass on dampened, trampled trails; the rivers run each day where the forest stays and stales— well fit, they say, for me. But I can hear the sea. Perhaps the pond that rests among the browning hills? The crystal lake that skirts the mountain’s cedar frills? Enough for all but me […]Read more "My Lot"
I loved the little, stone-paved road That wound beneath the aspen trees And stepped across the stream that flows Where daisies dance and brush the breeze. I prayed and dreamed the soul-craved road. You stepped away into the grass And offered me Your wounded hands, And what choice did I have? I chose To […]Read more "The Unmapped Ways"