The winter world is cold— and withered and old— the trees droop, still and bare, in the scathing air, clothed only in gray loss— mourning the leaves lately buried with the frost. … But the sky is soft as mother-love for children wounded of life— it is older than the cold and beautifully, gently bold.Read more "The Winter Sky"
The sky resigns; a silent kind of cry that lies outside the mire of our lies and uncontrolled, cannot be rolled into the fabric of our sinful lives. – The sun has sunk in protest or in fears, as noonday freezes sight with night and now the rays that filled our days strike us with […]Read more "This Was the Son of God"
I never knew how much I loved the light until the dark awoke and tore a terror, slow, inside my heart. Not a stab of sudden fear. The pulsing throb of confidence that now the lights are off they’ll always stay that way. – And in a little while at last I knew the game […]Read more "#forme"
Somnolent, the blear of grassy brown and khaki bends down low before the tuneless rush of wind that lazily pursues its constant quest to touch the leaden sky that spreads abroad and wide and grey and quiet like a dream: the painted backdrop of the winging birds flying on before the smudge of ghostly sunlight […]Read more "Winter Rest"
The promise of winter rides the charging wind. Dark clouds pace the sky, prophesying doom. The weeping willows wail and thrash in protest. Leaves, by the thousands, jump—a frenzy in slow motion— then rush the streets with panicked footfalls to escape. Not me. I read the signs like letters from a friend, and smile, knowing […]Read more "A Blustery Morning"
When clouds drift down to earth and hide the world in white— sky and mountains gone— the road fades into mist. I wrestle with the air to reveal its secrets there, and often I have missed the gentle light of dawn, unveiling in my sight, the place of nearest worth. –Read more "When Clouds Drift Down to Earth"
(in hopes that he would finish his novel that I would really, really, REALLY like to read) 🙂 If all the stories ever told could fly, they’d rise like dazzling dragons through the air to breathe their flames like colors everywhere and make a moving canvas of the sky. We’d catch them one by one […]Read more "For the Would-Be Novelist"
I like to take the long way home, The lazy road that wanders there Among the sagebrush outside town. I like to roll my windows down, The cool air swooshing through my hair, Bewitching me again to roam. The sky shines blue after the rain And stretches, touching earth on all Horizons. Puffs of white […]Read more "Evening Drive: Wyoming Edition"