When your morning walk
feels more like a midday swim,
You’re in Virginia.
When your morning walk
feels more like a midday swim,
You’re in Virginia.
Traveling lightly
and oh so slow, those soft clouds
ease across the sky.
May we take their wisdom down
to earth and bring heaven nigh.
JDG
“Small voice,” I say, “I changed your question a little.”
“You did?” small voice says, “Why?”
” ‘What am I here for?’ seemed too big so
I changed it to ‘What is being asked of me right now?’ ”
“Sounds good,” says small voice.
“It’s still hard to answer,” I say.
“Yes,” says small voice.
“But…” I say.
“Go on,” says small voice.
“Well, it’s strange but when I ask that question,
I don’t feel invisible anymore,” I say.
“Maybe asking that question is what you’re here for,” says small voice.
“Maybe,” I say.
JDG
“Small voice, do you ever get the feeling
you’re invisible?” I ask.
“Not exactly, ” says small voice, “but I’m often ignored.”
“What do you do then?” I ask.
“I’ll tell you what I don’t do,” says small voice.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t give up. I just keep on talking.”
“Even when you’re ignored?”
“Yep.”
“Why?” I ask.
“That’s what I’m here for.
What about you? What are you here for?” small voice asks.
“I’m beginning to see why
you’re often ignored,” I say. “Still, I heard you and
I’ll think about it.”
“Fair enough,” small voice says, smiling.
JDG
Though they say,
and I’m sure they’re right,
you can’t appreciate the day
without the night,
I’d like, just once,
to hear them say
what to do with endless grey.
JDG
When that bit of light paused at my window,
I wondered what
it wanted.
Soon it
left,
lured
away
and astray
by another
who must have wanted to keep things moving.
JDG
On days when nothing
happens, the sun still rises
and sets, the roots still
grow beneath our grounded feet
and our hearts still keep their beat.
JDG
When sunlight falls on
water-drenched trees, days start with
a wink and sparkle.
JDG
A slowly changing
quality of light – not yet
bright, but brighter than
before – leaves us hoping for
even brighter tomorrows.
JDG
A stack of pages
torn from magazines, arranged
like an hour glass –
a strange image arising
out of the silence
as I contemplate the word
“complete”- the image
itself a mixed metaphor
so much like life itself.
JDG