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Winter Paints December on Lake Erie

From Walks in Life’s Sacred Garden


If you look closely, you will see

the masterpiece Winter painted

along mighty Erie’s shore

in the darkness, well into the early morning light.


You will see winter’s fondness for ever so subtle shades of gray,

How one by one, winter’s breath bends,

sheaths the tall ornamental grass in rounded silvery whiteness,

And how he paints ripply footprints at the water’s edge.


If you look closely, you will see

the fluttering gulls in the distance,

Seemingly small, yet not insignificant,

Every detail a pixel of life.


There’s more, if you look closer.

If you’re willing to brazen the biting wind,

Like the pile of jagged sticks, and mossy green rocks from summer.

Now a single creamy white ice sculpture.


And if you hold your eyes and heart wide open,

You can read the painter’s signature,

Written in the battleship gray sky—


Watching a Farm Awaken in the Early Spring

From Chasing Cosmic Butterflies


I love the way a farm awakens,

especially in the early spring.

How it knows to be itself, just like

the faded red barn knows

there is nothing but the moment—

What we see between sips of morning coffee.


I love the morning songs cardinals sing.

Chips and whistles carried by the wind.

Who isn’t spellbound by how

the darkness slowly gives way to light, and

how the old barn never complains, or begs

for a fresh coat of red paint.


I love the way the morning fog hugs low places

in the still unplowed fields, where soon

fresh ears of corn will grow, and

crows will wait in anxious clusters

Sumptuous meals, Heaven’s delight.


Yes, I love the way a farm awakens

especially in the early spring.

There the soul knows no boundaries.

Its vastness spreads in quiet repose

across a to be defined horizon, painting

a pretty picture, a new day begins.

Feline Tornado at 1:56 AM

From Walks in Life’s Sacred Garden


Nothing rests or finds comfort in the house,

when the three tan-brown and white calicos

run amok in the late night shelter

of a fresh-blown full moon.

Nocturnal by nature,

the full moon rushes through their feline veins

like XXX strength java coffee.

Blame their mania on global warming,

or an electromagnetic overload

from too many electrical devices in the house,

but deep down you know—it's their nature.

Look at their crazed eyes glowing in the dark,

like runway landing lights at the airport.

For God sake don't move...

your shins will be bruised below recognition,

like battered prize-fighters going into the last round.

Like tornadoes,

ripping their way across flat-ass Kansas,

the calico trio's night high must run its course.

God help us all

if the full moon lingers one more night.

Cancer as Spiritual Teacher

From Cancer as Spiritual Teacher


For each of us, life lessons to learn,

Meaningful truths to clearly discern,

Some lessons, mere cooking recipes,

Others, more demanding therapies.


Our spirits cry out when we are in pain,

A new understanding from which we can gain,

And if we are mindful and willing to change,

By opening to spirit, our life will rearrange.


Learning from cancer seems quite odd,

But listen, you’ll hear wisdom from God,

It’s all about balance, aligned living you could say,

Finding our essence, living it each day.


The spiritual lessons so far for me:

From fear and selfishness to be free,

And walk my path with trust and love,

Guided by healing wisdom from Above.


Look at your cancer, beyond a disease,

Its lessons abound for you to seize,

Be honest about what you see,

Spiritual truth is the key.

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