does weathering the storm really make us stronger–
or does it break us into tiny little pieces;
blown away by the wind,
washed clean by the rain,
and dispelled forever into a dark oblivion?
The Storm
Colors
the rich, bursting, ripe colors of late summer flood the senses and gladden the heart
Whisper
whispering your name into the fog,
the soft sound was carried gently by the rising mist,
while a cool august breeze caressed the echo
Conversations Lately
“Everyone clapped and cheered, and it almost made me cry.”
“What would you buy if you were me today–what’s really good?”
“Yesterday a big snapping turtle came out of the water and scared him so much, he spread those huge white wings and flew away.”
“They had tin foil on their heads.”
The Big Picture
sometimes, concentrating on beautiful details can lend focus to the bigger picture
Loving
cracked pottery
chipping paint
broken china
mended quilts
dried flowers
abandoned things
weathered grave stones
Lost
we have lost our way–
losing one another and so losing ourselves
