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Grassing
I like grass. Whether in the pasture or the hay field, grass does not try to be more than their natural self. Walk a field and I feel their rootedness and love of sun. Whether ryegrass, wheatgrass, orchard grass, or tall fescue, I expect grass to live their created identity. I never expect cool weather grass to grow much…
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Moon, Dust, & Becoming
Start with the first Sunday after the first full moon of the Spring equinox. Easter. Drop back 46 days toward the first of the year—not including Easter day—and you’ll arrive at a day centering indigenous within Christianity: Ash Wednesday. We could certainly talk about Christian structure and the Council of Nicaea using the vernal equinox to set…
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Posted
While walking the drive,A young eagle perched, upon a wood fence post.We neared, they flapped, only to land on the next post.Again and once again, post to post,Until the fenceline ended.
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Ordinary Tree and Bread
Today’s the last day of Christmas. Five weeks ago my family spent a day in the mountains choosing a tree for the mass of Christ and to make decorative wreaths. This morning the tree stands in the corner next to the dining table. Just as green and full of leaf as the day we began to decorate them. I like…
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The Unveiling
Pasture grass glistened from last night’s rain. As she circled, her amnionic sac protruded, then vanished. She laid back down. Head up, she chewed cud and rested. Overhead clouds broke. Angled light shafts scattered across the valley. Standing again she walked a few feet, looked to her rump, circled, then folded her legs and laid down, again. Clouds watched as…
Chewing the Cud 