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!…
The Other By R.S. Thomas There are nights that are so still that I can hear the small owl calling far off and a fox barking miles away. It is then that I lie in the lean hours awake listening to the swell born somewhere in the Atlantic […]
The movement of the generations is in many ways, is the core experience that makes us human.
And how we respond to doing our part in the movement of the generations – speaks eloquently about who we are.
“Welcome” the earth seemed to say to the soles of my feet.
“Thank you” my feet seemed to say to the earth.
How does God come to us in the evening? What whispers do we hear from the divine, as the day grows old.
Last Tuesday I wandered down into the basement of the church while the Food Pantry was in full swing. Spying me, Kathleen pulled me into one of the rooms where a box of canned food items was being inspected…
As I thought about this idea of constancy, this week, I found myself thinking about my parents.
In particular, I found myself thinking about them at the end of their lives.
communication, does not require words, does it?
The throaty wail of an infant’s first breath…
The groan of a mother in labor
These are indistinct sounds cannot be found in Webster’s dictionary. And, yet we need no interpreter to tell us what these sounds mean.
Windnoon by W. S. Merwin On the green hill with the river beyond it long ago and my father there and my grandmother standing in her faded clothes wrinkled high-laced black shoes in the spring grass among the few gravestones inside their low fence by the small white wooden church the clear panes of its […]
“There’s another one over there,” my friend said, pointing into the underbrush.
We stooped over the headstones.
The years were writ more indelibly there then the names, but brushing aside the lichen, we could read enough to see that the men who lay there were confederate soldiers.