Quilted leaves
Most brilliant before
Death’s final blow.

Mountain’s covered
In melted Crayola colors,

Blanketed in
Mornings soft, downy clouds
Like snow.

The sun
Just starting to peer
It’s crown
Above the cool horizon.

It’s beams,
Like outstretched arms
In a good yawn.

The birds
In winters way,
Now all but gone,
.

Leaving
a palpable silence
So real, So calm.

His Comforting Grace

The extent of the relationship

He allows me is infinite.

Wrapped in His word

like a newborns blanket;

warm, comforting, inviting,

so necessary for life.

Beyond the World, throughout the Universe,

within His heart and arms and desires,

a Fathers love.

Thirsty for the peace He brings,

I pray, out loud, on my knees,

brought to the revelation

of a relationship, pure.

The hands of a carpenter and artist

who builds souls,

who moulds life,

who sculpts love.

Destiny in His hands,

desires through his eyes,

forgiven and not forlorn

in His grace.

His will, my joy.

Dancing in prayer

I lift my heart through my arms,

held high

to the awaiting fingertips

of Heaven.

Craggy gardens

Selfless

To thine own self be not true,

but live for God

instead of you.

It is there we find reward.

so upon this Earth

we should not horde.

Give of your heart

and share your soul

so that life's a grand part

of eternity whole.

Water,

you calm, cool creature,

collected in the Earth's

deepest features.

In you we are born,

cradled in peace,

defying gravity

in nature's fleece.

The perfect drink,

for life a must,

without this gift

we are but dust.

You bring me calm,

you sooth my mind,

from clear, blue lakes

to ocean's brine.

So clear, so sweet,

so take me home,

to the water's edge,

where my heart doth roam.

Morning devotion

Wandering calmly in God's Grace,

all the fear now gone,

life's become a centered place,

until he calls me home.

Through prayer I have found my reason,

on my knees I find hope,

now I cherish every season,

in rough waters, his love, my rope.

Reborn, resplendently anew,

my eyes wide in wonder,

my heart lifted into the light,

the darkness now nearly asunder.

The dawn, it is a joyous gift,

the dusk a blanket, so warm,

life, a spark, intense,

my soul, an endless form.

Thank you is not nearly enough,

in gratitude for my soul,

for life it is a gracious blessing,

and in death, you make me whole.

Man Camp

Wind playing with fire

Mother and child

Autumnal Arora

There are some days,

like this,

where I can feel life,

in every pore of my being.

Cool and dark,

with a breeze whispering

through the trees,

as if they were interpreter.

God's clear voice,

Earth the instrument,

me the audience,

Standing ovation.

The encore,

Eternity.

Much better than a Denny's Grand Slam....but what isn't?

My friend and I went to an Atlanta Braves baseball game against Philly, and watched them come back after being down 9 to 1. There were 2 grand slams in the game, this one was in the bottom of the 9th inning to win. Other than the ballpark footlong that made me sick, this was the best game I have ever attended.

Life,

my fragile shard,

deeply woven,

lightly marred.

Truth,

the fruit inside the shell,

wanting out,

not easily quelled.

Spirit,

a horse not quite broken,

a sun drenched field,

it's gait wide open.

Love,

a forest of green,

art in motion,

God serene.

Bee mine

Spicy seasoning.

I find myself both overjoyed and grateful

every time I live to see another season.

In the spring I love seeing a dead world

explode into every color you find in a box of crayons.

(The big box with the sharpener)

I embrace the air rising from the south,

gently warming the new plants to

create a pungent world of fresh life.
In the summer I love lying in bed,

with the windows open,

listening to the cicadas and frogs at night,

singing a symphony to the Heavens.

I love spending time outdoors,

roaming, fishing, and camping

as we were meant to do,

as so many before us have done.

In the fall I love watching the mountains

shift colors like a chameleon

and kicking through the dry leaves covering a hiking trail.

I love the cooler nights where I can lie in my back yard

and stare at the stars, contemplating the true size of the universe,

and how small I am, floating in it's breath.

In the winter, there is something magical

about how quiet snow is when falling,

even in mass quantities.

I love celebrating the birth of Christ

with my family and friends.

Through the gaudiness and pomp and circumstance

that has befallen the season,

there is the hint of the miraculous, of hope,

of the foundation of Love.

We have so few seasons left in our lives,

no matter how invincible we believe ourselves to be.

Each season is like a new birth within this life

that we are graciously given.

Embrace them all.

Welcome to North Carolina, home of the guy....with the flag....and those flying brothers in the sand dunes, we also like Trout.

It is important that we reflect, but not dwell.

Im not Zapruder, but thanks for asking.

The President going up the road to see Billy Graham.

Flowers taunting some barbed-wire as they make a break for it. Run my little yellow friends.....ruuuuuuuuuuunnnnnn!!!!!!!!

Cloud dancer

Lines of water vapor

coming together to dance

in the evening sky.

Rising with the updrafts

to comand a form,

if but for a moment.

Dress caught in the current,

crown of dewy flowers,

arms extended,

back arched,

grand plea,

reach up,

twirl,

and..

.....

...

..

.

gone

Roger Miller is antiquated.

Roger Miller let it be known that you simply can not change film with a kid on your back. Due to magnificent advances in digital technology, this is no longer a problem......unless you have to change your flash card.........but you can be happy if you mind to.

Fire is the original television among other things. It was only recently that our world has had the likes of Soupy Sales, Bob Barker, and Oprah. Even in the days of radio people had to have something in which to affix their eyes. I suppose you could stare at the radio but it would be much like a dog staring at a door awaiting it's masters return.

Fire was also the original dating site. If you wanted to meet the pretty ladies, be they Australopithecus Robustus, Hun, or one of those skinny girls you see in Hieroglyphs, a good fire was the place to go. (Joan of Arc excluded). As a society we should take time to turn off our televisions, take a step back in time, and set something aflame.

Redheads would make terrible slaves

Redheads would have made terrible slaves. How long could one of my people have possibly lasted in a southern Cotton field or desert in Egypt? One or two hours at the most before dehydration and sunburn would have brought us to our knees. Then comes the whip on top of the sunburn when you can no longer physically move due to said sunburn...vicious cycle really.
I recently talked to a doctor about an article I had read stating that redheads feel pain 30% more than other skin tones. He said that he had heard the same thing, right before he shoved an epidural needle into my spinal column to inject steroids. 30% is a lot people, and I seriously doubt it swings the other way where we feel 30% more pleasure than other skin tones. I have yet to even bring up the temperament of my kind, we are know for our quick fuses. The lengths of our lives would have been drastically reduced by the speed of our tongues. We have enough trouble working when you pay us well, and place us in an air conditioned building with a nice view.

Spilt sand

Trail of sand, underwater,

spilling down grey rocks

into a deep pool

of cold, blue riverwater.

Gentle, green moss

catching grains of Earth

for a brief moment,

before letting go

and waving in the swirl

of a slow eddy.