an icy walk

the treads on my boots grip the ungrippable

like studs on snow tires they slice through

the frozen matter on the ground no match

crunch

i'm moving faster than i expected with all

the sleet cannot stay my feet in these boots

i'm bounding through drifts and slushy mess

splash

the persistent freezing rain begins to coat 

my coat stiffens in the arctic temperatures

but inside i'm warm and dry impervious

crackle

in time i will become an ice sculpture

the ornament of a path less traveled

all to the unrelenting patter of icicles

chink

winter weather advisory

it's still not snowing. for days the forecast fanfare foretold 

snowflakes, winter storm warnings abounding, and staring 

out the window past the current negative temps and tales of 

snow for the next 6 hours the green grass and dismal freezing 

rain belie the snowflake icon. i can't sit still. i check the 

window. i check the app. the continual disagreement echoed 

by the tumultuous wind keeps me restless. i'm pacing. i'm 

looking for signs of something new, something overdue, 

but all i see is complacent normalcy. an unusual icicle here 

and there but otherwise a normal february landscape. this 

does not fit. the arctic air mixed with the sub-zero temps 

combined with clouds producing precipitation all point to 

white puffy flakes. i'm ready for winter to be over but i'm 

also ready to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of a frosted landscape. 

all the normal is upside down and i'm still adjusting. the wind 

fretfully howls outside my window, but not to decorate trees 

with snow ornaments. what if everything i used to distract me 

is no longer at hand? He makes everything beautiful in His 

own time...can i wait for that? is it snowing yet? will it ever?

sonnet 2021

when all the world around does fade away

and hope shines through the clouds that block the sun

I find this life of ash and soot turned grey

begins to shine more bright than anyone

though rain that falls may sting my cheeks at times

more soft than tears that fall the drops obscure

my eyes are clear and see beyond the grime

to where all things are washed anew, made pure

although my hand has yet to feel your touch

each day I know is less to wait for you

what thought it makes my joy abound so much

to hold you close until you find me true

this life so full so lost is whirling free

as I with you am all I wish to be

grey eventide

the light has changed as the grey sky almost 

imperceptibly takes on a shimmer as if the sun 

no one saw is yet gleaming a farewell to the day 

without rain and a haunting angst steals through 

the air as the road bends and the trees shiver 

almost as if one could reach beyond this moment 

and capture something lost or maybe forgotten 

though it seems that i can always remember what 

he said when i least expect it like a grey day with 

barely a hint of blue it still takes me by surprise 

with a pang like the unexpected twinge of a scar 

long-healed the remembering while painful reminds 

me that i am alive and i survive in spite of the pieces 

i've left behind and while his words might whisper 

through the air at such a twilight moment when i'd 

rather think about tomorrow and the coming spring 

i can lay each word back down and turn my face to 

catch the last rays of a day that was new and one i did 

my best to live well and find the hope to keep heart in 

a life that has grey days with the hint of glorious hues 

rest

to and fro

the hammock swings

long shadows tell

summer sunlight

ending soft

harsh rays tempered

by dying light

as cooling night

greets the sun

i feel the weave

each thread unique

gently cradled

where work ceased

the creak of pins

like distant strings

tell of a world

where hope reigns

i'm lying still

this summer eve

with eyes half closed

in thoughts of peace

beyond the gate

a world awaits

a clamouring throng

held at bay

i only hear

the distant roar

like waves of foam

crashing on sand

i rock and rock

each movement sweet

i'm staying here

alone at rest

my true heartbeat

be still and know

thoughts on borrowed time

 excerpt from an old journal entry

what does it mean this idea of borrowed time? of living on borrowed time? the premise being that the thing that kills you has already been set in motion; that your days were numbered and they ran out but you're still living. but borrowed from who or where?

a search yields little fruit as to the historical footprints of the two words now joined, but it strikes me that in this mad game we call life every breath of every being is borrowed time. grace. borrowed from His blood. from our first gasp we exist under a death sentence and every moment is an opportunity lent us to plead the blood. 

to recognise that our life is not our own. to breathe in grace and breathe out gratitude. we can never repay the loan but we can make good use of it. if I truly understood or saw the remaining grains of sand what would I do differently? how would I spend such a debt? what words would I say or leave unsaid?

borrowed from His blood. or could I see each moment as a heartbeat closer to time never ending? life borrowed from life everlasting--the chance to choose to never die or spend borrowed time until it runs out. what incredible mercy is mine.

Retail Therapy

The shopkeeper's glad it's raining

the folks straggle in from the wet

buy trinkets and things

from places unseen

in hopes they might travel there yet.

The shoppers are dreaming of sunshine

of gold coast and blue coast and west

throw coins in the till 

like a deep wishing well

and pray for a chance just to rest.

The days go around like a circus

the same show for different eyes

each new little thing

that comes into the ring

they greet with authentic surprise.

The shopkeeper closes up tight

he thinks of a day without rain

when sorrow and sighs

and customer whys

no longer are his to maintain.

Tomorrows dance away in his mind

he wonders how far he could go

if all he had saved

from yesterday's rain

was more than just melted snow.