face we wear
grows old and weathered, torn
open by time,
tinted as dawn
like the late
ashen and crimson.
It will no longer
our deepest scars
from the long
sweet lines left
Posted by kind permission of the poet.
It’s ripe, the melon by our sink. Yellow, bee-bitten, soft, it perfumes the house too…
(at St. Mary’s) may the tide that is entering even now the lip of our…
I miss you, fellow walkers – dad with double stroller, rainbow legging woman, earnest black…
This site is brought to you by A Network for Grateful Living, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit. All donations are fully tax deductible in the U.S.A.
© 2000 - 2020, A Network for Grateful Living
Website by Briteweb
We invite you to experience six blessings in this short, meditative video from Brother David: