Life is different—both too slow and too fast. Too slow, I am not quick enough to butter toast while it’s still hot or catch him when he falls from that one step before the fireplace. Fast is just a word for how time steals him from me. It steals him in his sleep—a new boy …
StopTake a breathWhat do you see?A teardrop stain, like dripping condensation on a windowIt smears against the pad of my right thumb.Green fingers of an aloe reaching out and to the lightRotting soilA black gnat sitting on a spore.My hair is everywhereComing out in clumps it hangs like Spanish moss from the branches of an …
Continue reading A Meditation on Place
The Wild Heart of Life 