season change

multiple trips to the yard

now frosted, Kona the puppy

quickly self-trained

but her whimpers at the door

call for quick response

cold settles in to the deepest

pain in my bones

still, I can appreciate

beauty, snow burdened branches

painted skies

and the hush

of a season that comes

wanted or not

living like a lizard

downside up becomes 

normal, here

winter settles in

and my flesh, now accustomed

to African heat, balks

shivering against the cold

I learn to live

like the lizards, seeking

the sun, stretching 

into the warm, 

never able to retain enough

heat, I withdraw 

as light fades

sheltered in fleece

waiting till the next

mid-day absorption

stretch

I have waited for Spring

steady light spreading

days long, bright

snow chased away

when rains fall hard

cold retreats

yet as my bones

thaw, parts of me

remain hard, frozen

creativity stiff, ice crusted

words, like tender 

muscles need to 

stretch slow, steady

so I shall begin

training, a writing fitness

routine, day by day

making myself accountable

to Him, and to others

spirits in community of warm

I ache for the melting

Beginning on the 1st of May 

I will join Sandra Heska King and others

working our way through Dave Harrity's book

Making Manifest

On Faith, Creativity and the Kingdom at Hand

 

change

sun streams hot upon my feet

through windows streaked

by the freeze/thaw of winter

melting snow drips 

off roof tops

and though the threat

of more

frozen precipitation

lingers, I am ready

much more than ready

for Spring to dig in

heels, claim her ground

unfolding full with new life

here sit I, hot footed

on the cusp of change 

more profound than season 

to season, a breaking out

turned upside down, full

circle turn, I am ready

much more than ready

for soon to become now

for questions to be silenced

by answers, fears stilled

by the reality of a life

my mind can not yet

imagine

winds blow strong today

in the heat of the sun

calling in

a contagion of refreshing

 

craving colour

snow returns

again and again

not concerned

with welcomes

so many days clothed

in shades of gray

leaves the heart weary

so that even the dull red

of out buildings

brings delight to my eyes

so hungry for colour

as I wait for Spring

 

ice

Who is the mother of the ice?

    Who gives birth to the frost from the heavens?

For the water turns to ice as hard as rock,

    and the surface of the water freezes.

Job 38:29-30 NLT

singing in the Sunday choir with Deidra

 

mid-February morning

the sky is brilliant blue

sun looks strangely unfamiliar

there is is a sense of lightness

floating, something like relief

yet the long months of winter 

here are no where close 

to their time of ending

I will take what comfort

and ease I can and joy 

in the lengthening days

hanging out with the poets today

 

lace and glory

this season of

the shortest days

the velvet dark deeper 

than memory 

recalls

a hole that pulls you in

fingers harsh, cold

muffled but not

silent

don't linger long

for there are gifts barely 

hidden

how He scatters snow 

like lace, the thick

and thin

creating space

for glory revealed

without apology

prompted by tweetspeak poetry

and hanging out at the pub
 

sharp edges

cold leaves me

brittle, too close 

to the edge of 

breaking, when what I

seek is unity

wholeness, to be 

a welcoming place

not these fractures

splintered, sharp to the

touch, come near and 

you leave bleeding

if I claim

innocence, lack of

foul intent, the flow

of pain continues

unhindered, hot

and raw

so let me own this

and ask you now

for grace, forgiveness

patience, that you wait

with me for warmer days

hanging out at the pub with the poets
 

steam and spice

Canada breathes cold on the other side of my door

while in here I'm dreaming Africa

filling my house with warm

chapati, hot peppers, beans

coconut milk and curry

cooking and eating in solidarity

with those who have so much less

and so much more, than we

who think we have it all

in the steam and the spice

hope thrives

 

wolves can wait

wind blowing cold

wild again

low moan background 

music to my morning

tension strums nerves

no whispering

breeze this clamoring 

wail demanding answers

I have no reply

curl up small

in fleecy protection

warm the wolves

can wait another day

back at the bar with the poets

travelling a new way

Rick and I ventured out to town for a meeting last night.  There were a few light flurries dancing about, but the forecast wasn't predicting any problems.

We enjoyed a time of sweet fellowship, prayer and planning.  My closing prayer was for safe travel home for all, mostly us, since we were the ones with a fair distance to cross.

As we pulled out of the church parking lot it was obvious it would be a slow trip.  The wind blew fierce, whipping the snow off the ground in waves of zero visibility. I watched the tension building in Rick's neck and shoulders as he concentrated on the often impossible task of seeing the lines on the highway.

I prayed that God would keep His mighty hand on our vehicle.  I imagined Him guiding us like a child moves a wooden car along a track.  The twenty minute trip took almost three times as long, but we did finally arrive home safe and without incident.  A chorus of praise and thanks rang from our hearts, spirits and lips.

We snuggled close in our cozy bed, grateful to be home.  And I dreamed...

We were travelling again.  Rick was on horseback, but at the same time he was leading a team pulling a cart.  I was seated at his right side, in a seat, not on a horse.  This seemed perfectly normal.  We were in an area we had visited frequently but noticed things we had never seen. High on hill tops I looked down and saw castle and village ruins and urged Rick to turn back so we could explore.  Filled with a sense of wonder and amazement, I woke, interrupted by the morning alarm.

When I brought this dream before the Lord, He replied:

you will be going a new way
as you slow down
I will show you both the future and the past
you will see what you have always missed before
in the time to come I will give you My eyes
this is part of the gift of My heart

 

nothing predictable

January's middle when the ice 

settles deep in bones

we had snow last night

snow this morning

while the wind howls

swirls, sculpts drifts of white

and now 39 degrees fahrenheit

bright sun denying the forecasted storm

not snow, thunderstorms 

January 15 thunderstorm

with snow again to follow

diving wind chills

nothing predictable, or steady

only 100% chance

there will be weather of some sort

or another

 

stark quiet shining

The best remedy for those who are afraid, 

lonely or unhappy 

is to go outside, 

somewhere where they can be quiet, 

alone with the heavens, 

nature and God. 

Because only then 

does one feel that all is as it should be.

Anne Frank 

in the stark quiet shining

of a prairie winter

it is easy

to feel alone

yet He Is there

surrounding me with beauty

declaring His glory

in frozen rainbows

back in the stillness with Sandy

 

find the cross

the sparkle, the lights

the house warmed

by scents of fir, cinnamon

ready to calm a restless heart

shake snow off boots

shed layers of protection

take time to settle

look close

behind the tree

and find the cross

 

focus blurs

focus blurs, there is

a softening

ice crystals suspended

mid-air, perhaps

a weariness of the eyes

thoughts of wandering

cease, this is

a time for home, hearts 

settling deep in 

unexpected surrender

hanging out at the pub for the last time until the new year

 

quickly winter

There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you. . . 

In spring, summer and fall people sort of have an open season on each other;

only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quiet stretches

when you can savor belonging to yourself.

Ruth Stout

winter has fallen

hard, fast

the air cracking with cold

dawns come late

nights early

in the silent dark

I return to the Him in me

 

in the stillness with Sandy who is flying off to Haiti. Let's keep her in our prayers.

warm side of the glass

on the warm side

of the glass I am

holding fast against

the wind

symphony of knocks

whistles, cries

leaves dance mid air

as branches crack

splinter on the narrow road

covered far too soon

with snow

hanging out with the poets today

 

truth in weather

morning dawned remarkable

fuchsia streaking light

soon the sky was littered with flurries

did one option better display His glory

simply because I preferred it?

would I deny the truth

of His creation, His control

as the weather shifts

in ways not to my liking?

the rain is His

as much as the sun

the brittle winds

blowing at His command

the ground is covered white

yet there is beauty here

 

joining Lisa-Jo talking about truth

 

hot days growing shorter

a large moon is rising as day's light begins to fade

earlier and earlier each day

the pattern speaks of Autumn

but temperatures sizzle 

finally announcing Summer

If I listen, I think I hear the corn plants

singing as their ears grow

they have waited long for this

as have I

so even as sweat drips

and heat prickles my skin

I will rejoice and not complain

soaking in the warmth

knowing the long dark months

are soon to come