She is the quiet one
with the brown hair, blue eyes.
A dreamer
caught somewhere between
a woman and a child,
living a life united
by stirrups and manes.
Wanting to do
everything, with never enough
time for it all,
she rails against the
frustration of being only human.
Wanting to believe
in the good of man yet
so often disappointed -
wanting to let passion
shine through in everything
she does, never satisfied
with half-hearted effort.
From life consumed
By flames of suffering
Remains with which to bless are made.
Upon their foreheads
By hands set apart,
A visible remem’brence of pain is laid.
So softly, so gently
A cross is traced
On uplifted and careworn brow.
Words are whispered
“Amen” is mouthed
We remember what we were, and who we are now.
They tore down the trees today. I stood in the muddy street and stared in horror at the carnage before me. The pine trees lay in a disgraced heap, stripped of their bark and their dignity. Young saplings had been uprooted and tossed aside casually. The ground now held nothing more than a sea of torn clay. A trickle of water ran from the ditch down the road, carrying bits of leaves and debris along with it. My mother suggested that a water pipe had accidentally been opened. I rather think that the land was crying.
I am a somewhat reflective person; I can think about any one thing to such extent and time that it borders on excess. This can be a handicap, though. I spend way too much time thinking about just one (usually unimportant) matter when there are other things I should be devoting myself to. Then, there are the details: I'm way too attuned to details, and other small things, like dates, numbers, sounds smells-- the list is a mile long.
I have a long history with stinging insects. There was the time when I was only three or four and I threw a rock at a wasp nest. My brother, whose idea it was, was safely hidden before I threw, of course. Then there was the time I intercepted a bee with a swing in mid-flight. And there was also the time I ran into a nest while skirting a creek and ended up with three stings and my hat floating downstream. But nothing compares to the shining moment of my “career.”
“True freedom isn’t the ability to do whatever you want, but the ability to do what you ought.” - Pope John Paul II
She was a paradox.
A stranger and friend.
A flower and stone.
She was a person.
Unpredictable and true.
Talented and free.
She was a queen.
Powerful and noble.
Independent and alive.
She was a lady.
Spirited and kind
Gentle and strong.
Wandering Am I.
Gazing at the sky above I See. . .
In solitude the stars lie,
Midst ribbons of dancing light.
Why do they shine?
What is their purpose?
Perhaps they shine for me,
As I walk by night.
Perhaps they shine for Heaven,
And all who dwell within.
Perhaps they shine for beauty,
To comfort men on earth.
Pondering Am I.
Listening to the winds sigh I Hear. . .
Singing, the birds as they fly,
Soaring and dancing to their song.
Laughing, wondering, thinking, child.
Crying, moving, listening, child.
Falling, failing, stumbling, child.
Fearing, discovering, waiting, child.
Taking, removing, dragging, child.
Hurting, worrying, mourning, child.
Working, playing, sleeping, child.
Talking, walking, running, child.
Growing, eating, starving, child.
Berating, hating, maddening, child.
Worshiping, praying, loving, child.
Child. Child....
We mourn for the child.
