february 7th

Beneath open blues and on empty browns,

with a stick as weapon and imagination as his script

he makes his way into adventure

and returns with outside in his eyes

and the wind on his cheeks.

february 1st

Yesterday our thermometer peaked at 10 degrees. The previous day's snow quickly turned into slush and water and seeped into the soil and flowed towards ditches. Balmy weather brings everyone outside to inhale deeply and to dream of the season of renewal.

Hope springs green.

january 27th

January 25th

One wiggled into our life just a few years ago, a stray, with an attitude. When I thought I couldn't handle him anymore I gave him away. He slipped into a stranger's van. As they drove off we shed tears. The other wiggled into our life as an energetic pup, more than 13 years ago. Loyal and gentle. When it became apparent that she couldn't function anymore a vet slipped sleep into her veins. She drifted off and I shed more tears.

january 17th

Some talk of travels to far and foreign places and something inside wakens to wanderlust and dreams of wild and lonely and new. Especially wild and lonely. Domestic fences seem just too close and too familiar. Domestic chores altogether mundane. Questions bubble up from sleepy corners of the heart, "Why not me?" and "Why am I not accomplishing great things?"

And the same old question, "Is the yearning for wide and wild and lovely and lonely not God breathed?" Is adventure not knit into our hearts? The pursuit of beauty not etched into souls?

Does the Father who knit together our hearts and souls not perceive what it is that we need? The great Author of wild and lonely and lovely not long for us to be fulfilled?

And I need to be reminded that within our own fences blessings and beauty are bountiful.

And today's dreary rain creates magic and splendor and masterpieces waiting to be discovered.

january 10th

Outside is dull and grey.

Inside, on my window sill,

frolic ten cheery tulips,

dreaming of dancing in the gardens

and of renewal.

january 8th

The christmas cactus at mom and dad's house is in full annual fuchsia. Startling colour in a drab season. Yesterday would have been mom's birthday. Thinking I hear her voice coming from the kitchen doesn't bring her back. Imagining her sitting in her chair doesn't put her in it. I go back to my busy life and leave dad to the circling of quiet and empty and returning seasons.