At our church’s August Chicken Barbecue all generations of folks helped –including me. I helped Ken Bacon by filling pitchers with cold water. Owen Houghton and I cut up watermelon (he taught me how to cut off the ends). I ‘shot the breeze’ with Archie Coll and Kathleen LaRou at the fire pit. Every few minutes Helen Coll would sing out that it was time to turn the chicken. At length, I settled down with a gang of corn shuckers–a crew of folks that ranged in age from 12 (or thereabouts) to 95. Community!…
We experience the eternal within the temporary, and we are filled with wonder! This is the poetic moment. The prayerful moment.
It is precious.
Someone off camera yells “Go, Go, Go!” And group of people splash out into the water. They take hands, forming a human chain.
The Pharaoh had power. He had armies. He had the rule of law.
What did Moses’ mother have? Bulrushes. Bitumen and pitch.
by Matsuo Basho (translated by Alan Watts)
Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews […]
The old pond is the essence of stillness… and then…
The atomic bombing –the most destructive instant in human history—transformed Hiroshima from a city defined by war into a city whose name is synonymous with the hope of peace.
Late in the afternoon one of the old women wiped her forehead with a rag and announced that it was time to walk over to the well.
The black flies have come and gone. Saturday afternoons are filled with the grumble of lawnmowers.We’ve put anAmerican flag(in memory ofDavid O’Neil)and a new Rainbow flagon our flag poles.The High School seniors have graduated. Yard sales are popping up on the sidestreets.The peonies are in bloom.Roll down the car window… It’s July!…