And Still, I Notice

Oh, my sweet girl in ladybug boots how lovely your wonder as you step to the call of puddles, and mud, and places mommy warns about. Dance to the thoughts that whirl in your head, live in the innocence of your unknowing, the playground of falling rain. Thrive in the belief that life is magic! Splash little toes, for as long as you can, tuck this moment deep into the inner pocket of your heart for the time when life’s playful puddles evaporate into ominous sky, and rains fall

It is not the pulse of the oars dragging into deep and shattering still to stir. It is not the slide that brings you forward and back,...

Hastening river and hushed mossy green, you, unaware of my presence, unconcerned with my adoration. My heart abundant and unscarred, deluged by peace in your presence. It is in this quiet place I know myself best. I want and need for nothing. For it is here, God cradles me, an embrace I pain to break.

There is a relief in having your smallness laid out before you.

He sits across from me today, I saw his story last week as well, only from a safer distance. There is sadness in his eyes, an emptiness...

Did you hear the bullets cry a hatred heart 50 lives destroyed Did you hear the the nation roar senseless acts embed our core Did you hear the silence fall with morning light we returned to toil.

As certain as the sun rises in the east and rests in the west, so assured is true north. Safely we rest in the knowing that it is He who...

Hearts are not made to be won taken as if by conquest by some overwhelming force. They are only made to be given away gently and freely,...

hireath (n) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostagia, the yearning, the grief for...

Sometimes life gets messy. Choices - ours and others bleed into one another, colors muddied beyond recognition, until we can no longer see what we meant to create. And so we hide the canvas, afraid others will judge the way we handled the paint. And at other times we get it right, the medium flows effortlessly, our life art is beautiful and vibrant, a masterpiece that we gladly share with the world. But have you noticed? when you look back a month, a year, or a decade later

You curled into my arms once upon a time when tears, fears, and sleepy eyes brought you there. How I miss the warmth of your soul safe...

Walls will find us in this life walls and fences and so many reasons to give up, give in. It is up to us, and only us, to climb them, to cling to them like vines and grow anyway. Let the light shine through for there are always cracks. Grow, grow defiant against the walls that tower around you the fences that lock you in. I passed this wall in Seattle's Pioneer Square one morning. I love how the vines escape the cage, defy its bleak surroundings, and cling vibrantl

I visit her often my mother of nearly 100 years who sits in timeless pause, absent of her surroundings. Dust accumulated furniture with...

The rain falls gently as night’s dampness gives birth to thirsty flowers in the park. Sleeping bodies lie upon dampened cardboard bed and shivering cold of grave-like ground. I step carefully not to tread upon either. Paper cup in hand and stench of booze walking before him he looks up from empty stare and interrupts my deepened thoughts. Piercing eyes of hollow deep with nothingness at its floor meet the dark of my own. And, for a moment our lives connect. I long

Something sacred dwells here, its message speaks…… Hands that hold hearts, gentle be your grasp, light be your touch, full be your reach....

I know not your name, but I can feel you in my chest. I know not the curve of your face, or the tone of your voice, but I already love...

Here it lies before us - another year, unturned pages linen stark white, preface and epilogue and we, the scribes. What will we...

In the autumn of life when leaves cling fiercely to each other aware of the imminent fall to winter, I reach for your hand. Snowfall...

Autumn is painting change everywhere, And I, a season of my own.

Days, moments, years… clock movements interrupted or oiled by people, events, choices, and the inner voice that speaks my name ...