Spring has arrived. The nippy breeze rushes past me, mixing a soft chill with the suns warm rays. As I wander aimlessly through the new-living yard, simply breathing the crisp air, I feel like I’m breathing in a fresh start, a new year. I smile warmly. The sun makes me happy.

Veni

“This is the Door of Humility, originally built in the seventh century.” The guide droned on, ignoring the muttered curses of the tall Americans who bumped their heads and the protests of the elderly who were already bent double with age. Among the later was a quiet woman with paper-white hair and gleaming onyx eyes.

She wandered away from the crowd into the Grotto of the Nativity. Underneath the elaborate tiles and plaques, it was still just a cave.

“He was born in a stable, Mara. Just think of it! A stable, like this!”

Notebook flipped open to an empty page

Pencil in hand, eraser in range

A mess of ideas desperately waiting to be written

But yet I think to myself, "Where is my inspiration?!"

Empty, like a useless vessel, I feel

If I was really blessed with such an incredible gift

Why am I not pouring it out to the world?

Oh what a God-given gift I have blessed with!

The gift to design a world of my own

The gift to sing without a voice

The gift to fly on the wings of the wind

            “Gerhard!”

The boy jerked his head around to look at the girl on the other side of the marketplace.

            “Just a minute,” he yelled back and turned once more to the farmer across from him. He handed Alcander’s bridle to the man and spoke again. “Are you sure you know the way?” The big man nodded and fastened the leather reins to the back of his vegetable cart.

Gently, softly, silently.

The rain falls tonight.

Moving, pulling, flowing.

The wind blows it here and there.

Calming, carressing, healing.

The scars on the earth so bare.

Tenderly, soothingly, calming.

The rain falls tonight.

It's raining again, and it makes me wonder
Just what it's saying, and why.
Is it a message of joy from heaven above?
Does it happen when angels cry?

Raindrops race gleefully down my window;
Or are they letting themselves fall?
I just can't decide what the rain is doing:
Rejoicing, or mourning us all?

Trumpet's notes as smooth as velvet
on old, musty antique couches
or forgotten, sweeping dress
hanging behind a bookshelf
full of yellowed volumes

Splashing, you and I,
across quiet streets
the drizzle making them shine
like silver keys, speckled with age
or all these leftover jewels
still sparkling in my eyes

Cobwebs and creaking stairs
and then out into the fresh air again
walking under dripping green awnings
flapping occasionally in the breeze
like startled birds,
ducks who like the rain