Monday, November 26, 2007
I look out the same magic window
that is never the same.
Yesterday, all was still,
while today the wind caresses
the few tree limbs with leaves
and the yellow orange school bus whizzes by.
The sky is white, ready for rain
or a few frigid snow flakes.
waits for winter.
The logs are fast asleep
with their ends
darkened with moisture.
The evergreens, in their moment of glory,
display their rich greens and
mock the shedding trees
for giving up their year's work.
To Kim Mosley ’s “Meteor” on the Eve of the Election Ooh, coming right at us the slam! It hurls us upside down and sideways splas...
Pulse The pulsing sounds of color reverberate in kaleidoscopic bits that scatter in pieces of beat, strands of band, shards of bard,...
I was going to write something about the difference between grieving and compassion. If we are all suffering, as Buddha surmised, then w...