September 30, 2018
Dear friends and family,
We have now arrived, your thoughts and prayers we gratefully receive——-
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A Creekside Path
It should be easier this path
having no strenuous hill to climb
no rough ground or downed wood
to clamber over but yet
the going is hard, each day being
long and a loneliness felt in this
new place far from home.
I try to be there for you
though at times I fail holding
back what I should more freely
give being reserved when
openness is needed.
It should be easier this path
following a creek so seemingly
sure of itself flowing smoothly
without hesitation then
erupting in cataract over
rock and ledge. I should wish to
be more like it, comforting in
presence and song
able to flow by your side
as you make your way
along the path by
Cascade Creek
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The Gift
A light banter disguises
the gravity underlying
Attempted normalcy in extremis
A story retold so with each telling
a lifting of sorrow and strain as
sympathetic eyes meet
Hope lives here in the heart
borrowed and the kidney given
the Plumber’s liver and
the cells restored
An extension is granted
a life prolonged
a gift shared
The gift of life
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A Bright Cold Shadow
of lingering snow cast
at twilight with hint of
sunset’s orange and pink
just to the side of passers by
walking their way home, hands
in pockets and eyes down
not destined for greatness
or perpetuity, only water
transfixed to crystal
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How Slowly the Autumn Turns
Yellow leaves, newly fallen fill
my path spilling over curb and
walk wet with morning rain
Memories of river crossings
fog shrouded and silent seem
long ago when leaves were still
green on the banks and slow
barges pushed upstream breaking
the grey water in the way life
moves against time, slowly at first
as the Autumn turns then
soon quickly as one leaf
and then another colors and
drops filling the path
and spilling over the
rooms and the hearts
of those here sleeping
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Not All Who Leave
do so with a burden made light
or a wish fulfilled or hope restored
Some linger at the table seeking
out companionship to assuage
the unfathomable sorrow
Here where miracles seem possible
there is no guarantee, there is a battle
still raging and losses to accept
A release yes, a homeward drive
longed for but to what end
Godspeed friend. Though I have
known you only briefly
my heart goes out to you
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Heartland
Leaving in winter, snow mingled with fallen leaves
flakes swirling, heading toward autumn
I imagine being still, trees now bare against a grey sky
an errant wind lifts a leaf from the ground and carries
it aloft, gently replacing it on a branch
Soon more, dry and crisp and brown are so attached
I think of the artist touching brush to pigment
making the first delicate stroke—yellow, crimson, violet
Branches appear then trees fill reversing the first frost
undoing the hard wind and the tearing rain
seeing autumn’s splendor once again
So too the grassland, lying exhausted, rises and receives
color and seed. One could look back in time and paint this
scene taking out the flooded valley, the dam, the highway
and show what once was: meandering stream, tall grass
beyond vision, rolling valley and woodland
Isolated farm houses dot the landscape
grain bin and silo
Worn paths weave from a weathered barn
down a gentle slope
Small town main street, heartland
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Letters
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