december 8th

december 7th

november's end

Snow is dabbled on the kitchen window and my view is abstracted.

Trees now vague shapes and green grass now white.

November blows past.

Vision outward as bespeckled as vision inward can be.

planners and thinkers

Thinking about our God and carefully planning out our walk doesn't guarantee that our paths lead to the foot of the cross. And I wonder how aware we are of the magnitude of Grace. Does the shadow of the cross stretch across our lives while redeeming light illuminates the darkened valleys? We think about it, we set up a game plan for ourselves and our families. We get frustrated when we are ineffective and feel unheard. Clay pots that wish to be the potter.

Believe and trust.

It is finished.

flurries

Suddenly the gardens were transformed into a canvas of bold brush strokes

and it seemed that we had simply leapt into a new season.

The children scurried about shouting for mittens

as they hurried out the door.

I'm left wondering what happened to yesterdays balmy temperatures.

little lads

Brothers, these boys -

little lads with mutual loves in their young lives,

kin connected by genes and games,

men in the making

with more than just memories in common.

away

The sounds are of the wind in the larch trees

and geese flying overhead or a thumping of a hidden grouse

and the scent in the air is of fallen leaves

and wood smoke and a promise of winter

and all around the trees stand golden in the sunshine

until night comes and a million holes prick the blanketing darkness

and little voices talk on about their day

and cousins' voices talk quietly of many things.

Away....