Another Tuesday: Unwrapped

Unwrapping my Tuesday again with Emily. Celebrating today, this place, and the aunts, uncles, and cousins who are even now trickling in for the evening. Stacks of round hay bales. Cows taking hay with their long sticky tongues from my hands. Sun and wind. Bald eagles on a tower. A white heron in a shallow pond.…

in the morning

*for glittering glory of frost-crusted grass, *for conversations with cows wearing wooly winter coats, *for mist stirred by sunbeams on the chilly pond, *for cold that burns inside my nose and makes my face rosy, *for large songs coming from small bodies of birds against the blue, *for the little dog who acts as if…

like chaff

Sudden wind gust. Road made thresh- ing floor;                  leaves swirl          down; birds                             swirl up. This heaven’s harvest always backward:                            light bits        fall while                       weighty rise. Our wise call foolish this: treasure drawn skyward by Gravity which laughs at                        ours, leaves             us to                       gleeful counting, mounding feather-light gold, becoming dust.  …

homeward

The cotton harvest is begun, heralded by six tarp-covered bales waiting in the dusk outside the gin. I am neither farmer's daughter nor farmer's wife, but I've been driving by the fields for upwards of seven years, hearing the talk of the farmers and their families, watching the different machines roll out to do their…

odds and endings

A peaceful, rainy day, with grade-tallying tasks which satisfy in showing results without my having to expend much in the way of critical or creative thinking.  I've been collecting bits of things the past week or so and failing to make anything coherent of them.  Here they are, though, coherent or not: A vision of a…

“people stare carefully”*

In a yard on Broadway -- in the Gateway to the Delta, not in the Big Apple, faraway readers -- wisteria droops from an in-bloom redbud tree.  My pink-and-purple phase ended long ago, but that tree persuaded me back to it. A dogwood tree blooms outside the church door, and other dogwoods flame white in the greening…

home

Kate Shrewsday writes of the home-longing we all seem to have, sharing how even snails, which we've always said carry their houses on their backs, go home to a physical location. Meanwhile, Kelly Foster declares, "These people I love, all of them, scattered so far and wide, they are my native land." I've been traveling, and I…

descending

Thick morning fog over the pond, and the sunlight streaming down through it, the way God's voice is always shown in children's Bible stories. We began to learn a Christmas song in children's choir, and I explained that a Mediator is not a meteor.  And I was struck with the thought of our Mediator, who descended "down…