Saturday, November 30, 2013

Wrapped in Wonder



From a rowhouse window, I watch the slightest sliver of waning crescent, quiet as candlelight, at the edge of the eastern horizon, in the crisp November night, three hours before it disappears into dawn. The room is at rest, ready for December, and I am wrapped in winter wool, writing in the waning light of two wax tapers. Waxing, waning, and moving toward new moon, where we begin again.



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Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Thanksgiving Forevernow



On the Bethesda Church road, as the storm moves east, beneath the cushion of cloud veiled dawn, a heron angel glides west above the rain wet road that ribbons down the valley of cut corn, to lightly land at the edge of Bennett Creek where Madonna and Child, cow and calf, drink fresh rainwater, and I am in that quiet congregation of thanks giving.




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