Pressed into Joy

Building a marriage is timber over time, the on purpose-ness of candles on the table on a run-of-the-mill Saturday night illuminating the daily gift that says, “I made something for you.” It’s a pile of firewood carried through the cold, banked against the night’s chill. Opera music, loud on the stereo while dinner cools and…

spent some time with the family recently. A lot of family….ever felt like this? ~~~~~~~~~~~ My train of thought often veers off track taking side journeys to sights unknown. I’ve jumped the rails, freight cars airborne, leaving passengers in  my wake, schedules in hand, confused, wondering– did they miss the whistle at the station— ’cause surely,…

The first poems I ever saved are from Mrs. Appy’s Ninth grade English class in a folder labeled simply ‘Poetry.’ 50 years later I can’t for the life of me locate it but I can see its contents–the ditto ink is faded but still quite legible. There are selections by Richard Brautigan and e.e.cummings, of course,…

(for Tania) “We’re like lacemakers,  a lost art of lovely life going, going, gone. Gone the way of quilting bees and fireside readings of “Gone with the Wind.” Gone, like all hope of  any kind of spring after this bone-chilling winter.” But the earth softens, trumpeting daffodils, splitting crocuses and color comes up, all green…

Water, is taught by thirst Land-by the oceans passed. Transport–by throe– Peace–by its battles told– Love, by Memorial Mold– Birds, by the Snow. Emily Dickinson, 1896 ~~~~~~~~~~ no snow here, friends, not yet. but plenty of birds and poetry.