Each New Day

The weather is getting warm, just warm enough to step out lacking a jacket. It makes me a little giddy, and I discover a greater happiness. It's as though the warmth of the sun's smiles and the caresse of the rain's tears are healing my soul, one new day at a time. I find in myself a keener desire to love others, and find again the individual that I am becoming.

Alaska

I wrote this October 22nd, 2007. I found it recently in some old stuff, and so I decided I'd post it. Enjoy!

I stopped on the side of the road, in the drizzle. There are bushes right up to the pavement, as though they were going to grow over it. The wild blueberries, endless layers of them, are ripe. As I pluck and pull them off their seemingly safe havens, they shed cool rain drops into my cupped hands. I slip a blueberry into my mouth, and savor the pure natural tartness. Jack Frost has not got the chance to sweep in and add the sugar to these. When I rise to look for more, I marvel at the view. This brush appears everlasting. I am situated on a hill, and in the lowlands below, placed quietly as the history it holds, a marsh. A bull moose with his magnificent array stands in the water, eating pond grass. Like a soldier about to meet his fate and join the rest of his kind, he prepares for battle, stuffing himself and gorging on a humble feast of greens. I can hear the rain, and the seldom splash of tires on the road way, a few feet off from where I stand on the edge of civilization. I can smell the berries, and the rain falling all around me. I eat more blueberries, and smile as I think of the moose down below and how he must be enjoying himself. On the horizon, mountains rise ferociously from the marsh. They guard this wonderful, soggy land from that which would destroy it in smothering love. The mountains almost say, “Respect us, and we shall respect you.” There is snow sprinkled on their ancient faces. I ponder the powerful forces that organized these towers of olden rock, and how trivial my existence is.

"Summer" July 23, 2009

The air gets thick and hot,
The clouds roll in,
And I get excited.
The cicadas sing their song,
The thunder rolls,
And dusk begins to settle.
I sit, pondering and thinking,
Of all that this earth is.
It begins to rain,
Soft and quiet at first,
And I open my mouth to taste.
Then it is a torrent that
Sends one images
Of wrath in the heavens.
So I take shelter,
Fearing the tiny darts that
Threaten me with their wetness.
The noise is intense,
As the trees shout to one another
Of their impending doom.
For a while, I sit
As the thoughts shout to one another.
Forever it seems, but
After a while,
The world is quiet.
I can smell the wet earth,
Clean and new,
As the birds begin again their song.
The clouds clear,
And the sunset emerges
After the storm.

A poem from Jan 16- Walking

I was out walking, thinking about life, and God, and all that, and this came to me.

The cold breeze through the lifeless grass
My breath in front of me
The snow underneath my boots
And I walk.

By myself in this wonderland
Everything white
Everything quiet
And I think.

So much on my mind
A world of things I don't know
The art of living I've yet to learn
And I pray.

The Lord knows my struggle
He is there always
To help in my direst need.
And I smile.

And so I walk,
And I think,
And I pray,
And I smile.

My Savior

This is just an inspiration that came to me in church today, so I wrote it down.


My wounds please heal
And I shall forever praise thee.
Thine angels encompass round about,
Comfort to give in time of need
But yet, they appear as equals to myself,
The friends around me I was blind to see.
Gratitude fills my heart,
Lifting me closer to thee
And I rejoice once more.
Preserve my soul, my Savior,
Preserve it unto thee.