five different colors on, chris bathgate, the five o’clock sunlight trying to stay warm as it slides down, thin microns, sitting on the floor scraped knee and elbow positioned carefully, chocolate in small piles next to me, the almost feeling of a summer evening, the front door open the back door shut, daylight for an hour longer tonight.
My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I...
we didn’t stop until our pile of gathered sticks ran out. (a collaboration by amber johnson and myself)
There is something about the past, something about my life before today. I can’t forget it because it informs who I am this Thursday, but it is so painfully gone. The whole past, good and bad, is gone and it is daily reminding me that it is growing older and more distant minute by minute. It’s a quandary, truly. And I don’t know how to untangle it. I think we are supposed to remember—that is why...
Branches aligned with pipes, a coincidental beauty that happens every day. We are given small miracles—little doses of grace—so many times in any given day: the sun rising pink and warm one minute later every morning, our hands finding the doorknob without looking, the shadows growing large and small as hours pass, thoughts shared over cups of tea warming throats and hands, the...
Driving, drops hit my window making it hard to see. But the gathering of water made the mountains look even more beautiful, I think. The sky, the water, the blues blending together to grey and blacks. There is magnificence in mountains; there is something large about them. They were made to tower, but when you look at them through a window they seem just as small as you. Measure them and it only...
Feet first, balanced on a ledge. Swinging free, slightly terrified, I sat in Rome. I was perched in a window a monk would have looked out of hundreds of years before me. He would have seen the same other half of his monastery circling back around to loop into a place of refuge from the same city, the same streets I was looking at with younger eyes. Everything was old—much older than myself....
“always come back to the solid place. you must believe the yes that comes back.”
tonight, these are my soul. things bigger than...
hiding under the shed while it rains up north.
a sabbath, a restful day to fill my soul back up.
over the summer, my grandma and i went to victoria, canada. she wanted to take me away for my twenty first birthday. it was her first time traveling without my grandpa— the last time she had gone to canada, it was with him. they had traveled the world over, they were adventurers for many years. it was my first time traveling with my grandma alone, and it was also my first time being...
murmuration: a low, indistinct, continuous sound / a gathering of starlings God’s hand, according to my dad.
this marks the beginning. a november beginning. a place to hold my thoughts and art. restful and honest.