The Day the Mountain Burst


There was a tree

Its branches strong and proud

Sturdy trunk

Now but a stump

Since the day the forest died


There was a stag

With antlers sleek and broad

Firm built back

Now but bony rack

Since the day his ranges dried


There was a man

With limbs stoutly sinewed

A hearty laugh

Now a chortling gag

Since the day his family passed


There was a mountain

Both tall and steep

Shrouded in dewy mist

Now but ashen pits

Since the day its hot heart burst



Autumn–the leaves swirl and dance above cracked cobblestones; a scudding cloud of decay driven ever onward by the dying year’s final breath.
Autumn–a sharp and poignant tang invades the lungs, beckoning back distant, nearly forgotten memories of mulled cider and hot buttered bread.
Autumn–a creak and a croak, and the raven takes flight, his glossy feathers blue-black in the gleaming shaft of sunlight piercing the sullen clouds.
Autumn–snap, crackle, and crunch underfoot as I tread the leaf strewn walk. A long drawn breath, a pause at the lazy sweep of wings, and a single wish released.
Autumn–o to be a vagrant leaf, a scent on the breeze, or a mere feather on a raven’s wing.

Life’s Lullaby

Tiny hands around my thumb

Sleepy eyes shut fast

Little heart that’s captured mine

Can’t believe you’re here at last.


Squawking words

Tottering steps

You’ve grown so much

Just while I slept.


Little questions

Great big eyes

The world’s a mystery

You’re peeling away the disguise.


One morning you wake up

And it seems that nothing has changed

But you keep on growing

As you begin to grasp how life is strange.


Did I just blink?

Where did my baby go?

I’m staring up into the eyes

Of my child full and grown.


The hardest part

Is saying goodbye

This is where you spread your wings

This is when you leap and fly.


It’s a mystery how the years slide by

One joyful moment after the last

On my knees, I start to cry

But the tears are joy for the lives God’s blessed.


Hello dear

My hairs are turning gray

My eyes are dim, my hands are thin

I’m slowly fading away.

Golden Field

I am standing in a field, golden in the sun, but the sky begins to cloud; the rain has begun.

I am standing in the midst of a field. The tall grass is yellowed and golden; every faint gust of wind sends the stalks rippling and swaying like an ocean. The air is empty; there is no sound save the murmuring of the golden waves. There is nothing beyond my field but a wide dome of soft blue. It is close, so very close, as though I can almost touch the sky. There is nothing here, except the field, the sky, and I.

I am standing on the brink. This is a no man’s land. I did not always stand amid these bowing stalks and I will not remain here forever, but today I am caught between. I am trapped in this field; this place that is somehow between yesterday and tomorrow. I hold my breath. I can feel my heart beat. My mind is restless; there is something waiting for me beyond the edge of this field, but I cannot move. Why will I not move? I am waiting, though I know not what for. There is something coming, coming to me as I wait in the field. Do I go to meet it? Can I move? Will I? There is a strong wind now and it blows with the scent of rain—the scent of rain and the scent of change. My hair is whipping around my face, the grass is dancing, and my heart and breath are in a race. I am standing in a field, golden in the sun, but the sky begins to cloud… the rain has begun.