whispers

Like a whisper,

the wings whoosh in and out,

then momentarily stationary

but tail-a-tremble

and impossible to hold

this wee bird-

temporal.

inexplicable

Who can begin to understand the ways of God?

Circumstances can leave you bewildered

as life hurtles forward

and when you take a step back

it seems you gain perspective

and tensions ease.

christmas, for mom

The humble and the simple, clinging to life, in a stable, of all places.

Did His mother think..."No, not here, he can't be born here! The setting is not right, the atmosphere not proper for a king!"

In this week of christmas, I longed for voices raised in praise. Yet, when I did raise mine it was shrilly, in frustration. I wished for Martha Stewart and turned into Martha, complaining to Jesus, that sister Mary wasn't doing her share, nor was anyone else. Moms get tired and moms forget to get on their knees and listen to the child born humbly. Moms try to create atmosphere forgetting that God Himself came to a stable. Moms try to make sure everyone has gifts, forgetting that the Child had nothing. Moms go to church on Christmas and their ears don't hear the message the shepherds heard in amazement.

Some mom's hold broken children and need to feel the Christ child's love. This child holds a broken mother and slowly the love seeps into her. And finally the message sinks in.

Humble, broken, and redeemed. In the still and small voice. In the small lousy stable. In a petty cranky heart. God passes through.

Feathers in the wind, clasping for dear life, learn to let go, to trust and be blown.

And He, wee child grown into a man, didn't complain. And He, wee child grown into God calls us all to Him. To trust, to let go, and to follow....one by one until He comes a second time.

eclipse

The last time I photographed a lunar eclipse was more than 10 years ago.

Today I started at the complete eclipse and watched it till the moon was almost full again 2 hours later.

It was quiet outside, at 3:00, and the wispy clouds blew past so that the eclipse was fully visible.

The world was asleep while I was awake and outdoors. A few shooting stars spritzed out of sight and I felt pleased to be able to witness this creation of the spinning earth and moon.

The moon is almost full again, the bare legs wrapped in housecoat chilled, the heart pleased.

The Snow

It sifts from leaden sieves,

It powders all the wood,

It fills with alabaster wool

The wrinkles of the road.

It makes an even face

Of mountain and of plain, -

Unbroken forehead from the east

unto the east again.

It reaches to the fence,

It wraps it, rail by rail,

Till it is lost in fleeces;

It flings a crystal veil

On stump and stack and stem, -

The summer's empty room,

Acres of seams where harvests were,

Recordless, but for them.

It ruffles wrists of posts,

As ankles of a queen, -

Then still its artisans like ghosts,

Denying they have been.

Emily Dickinson

low light

all the world is sparkling

Tiny flakes sparkle on their haphazard trip from heaven to earth

and appear orb-like through my lens.

* * * * *

As they alight the miniscule orbs reappear as flakes, each of intricate and unique design.