today
we walked to the farmers’ market
sunshine flowing like a cape
some are gathering in washington
to hope and dream out loud
linda ronstadt said she has parkinson’s
and will never sing again
I watched a little boy of joy dance
in the middle of the coffee shop
marks three weeks since my dad died
and our little dog, too
I will write this poem and then go
back out into the sunshine
Peace,
Milton
In my newsletter this week, I wrote about Caitlin Clark, the point guard for the Iowa Hawkeyes who are playing tonight for a spot in the National Championship Game on Sunday. In describing her prowess, I said, She is known for her shooting ability, particularly her three-pointers that she can drop from the confession stands…
catching a breath in the small town where we lived before this one one of the houses on our way home filled their yard with inflatable Christmas things Santa snowmen reindeer to name a few each was filled with air and light and made their corner lot the beacon of the neighborhood until daybreak when…
light blankets I was the last one out of the building tonight after our service of silence and singing the songs were handed down chants the silence was marked by a blanket of candles on the communion table I blew them out turned off the lights and stepped out to find the parking lot basking…
cynic critic thoughtful friend wide-eyed worn-out on the mend wondering wishing just the facts prophet listener off the tracks hungry angry coffee spoons lover laugher set to tunes true believer last to know all together miles to go Peace, Milton
worth saying I read the screen or the page I listen to the other ones talking as though everyone is waiting for what I will have to say as if what matters is how I respond why would that be true? social media creates the illusion that life is a series of little soap boxes…
spiritual practice start with a goal make a promise to show up then miss the next day start with failure then deal with grace you will not write everyday this lent easter will come good friday too the season does not ride on you faithfulness and perfection are not the same saints miss the mark…
let the heat and the light soak in deep
soul deep
I’m so sorry to hear about the death of your little dog.
Grace, mercy and peace to you and Ginger, and also joy and love.
Thanks, Barbara.