Intuition.

Inspiration.

Imagination.

What must it feel like to be these words? To be an arrangement so appealing as to cause one to think, to write, to act, to move...

What if we were just ink on a page?
Hope.
Happiness.
Haven.
Words, words, words, words, words!
But to cause? That is a marvelous purpose.

I'm not very good with titles

How often in life do we face a challenge with joy? A task is usually a burden to be lifted, an episode to conquer, an obstacle to overcome. Joy is never part of the equation, save that joy we feel with accomplishment. But how can we not see that challenge as accomplishment itself? How can we miss the beautiful lines of encouragement radiating from its core? The opportunity is life, in and of itself. It breaths, it moves, it cries, just like everything else. And when it comes to us, face to face, it comes in life – asking not for a conquer, a slayer, a hero – but for recognition from someone with eyes and ears and a heart like its own. Someone to accept it and embrace the challenge; accept it as life, and live forever more.

Joy in the challenge...is that too hard for man?

Brrrrr

There’s something beautiful about snow; the way it surrounds the face.
It fills the holes, eliminates the beauty of those you see every day.
It paints white with forgetfulness - erases the lines in the world; trees, homes, children, fears, cars, love, worries, sleep...

Erases it all until you see only white. 

The purity of the world at your fingertips. 

Is there anything more spectacular?

You can pick it up and crush it in your gloved hand. Better yet - you can taste the hope in your un-gloved hand: feel the cold wet slip down your fingers and into your throat.

Ah what a beautiful thing, snow.

Cardiac Arrest

What is a heart but

an organ of flesh?

Something small that

with life it gives:

So much can burst to death

by the sting of it.

Wet

Wet

(Sheep Falls on The Henry’s Fork)

Battered, bruised, broken;

I cannot move for pain.

Thousands undivided:

Pressing down on my skin

Their jaws devour my flesh,

Guiding bits on with their damp

Saliva and blood.

The torrential battle forever

Raging on: the pressure consumes me.

Those below scream for help,

For friendship.

Friends now enemies and enemies

Friends as each tattered break

Moves us closer toward eternity’s end.

Some call me endless –

A base, a foundation, a rock –

But here I am, wounded,

Water’s oppressed foe.

Droplets a battalion

Ending my everlasting soul.

Time and pressure plague all.

Isn't it just?

Time moves, time bends, time releases us from bondage. When we set out to change the course of our future, we are examining our lives through a different line - one that did not exist before.

Future is relative. Past is relative. Present is probably the most relative of all.

Isn't it time we got all those relatives together and celebrated life for what it really is? 

Not a time, not an event, not a circumstance:

Nothing more or less than a blessing.

Progress

Youthful minds turn

Round and round like a gymnast

On a rough day.

We collide with

Sweat and tears, hoping someone

Will say to us -

"Give up. Give up" -

But never quitting ourselves.

We look like fools

But still craving

The failed attempts and pain.

So we keep on

Turning and Turning and Turning.

Turning till blood

Flows from our veins - asking in

Wonder: "Is this 


my own?"

Is this my own...