Thanks to modern technology, anyone with a computer or a smartphone can now track the International Space Station. I grew up in the late sixties and early seventies and something I kept from that era was a love for space and space travel.
Recently, I had a sighting opportunity that brought the space station directly overhead. It was visible for six minutes as it made its way from 10 degrees above the northwest horizon to a disappearing point far across the sky near the eastern horizon.
It brightened as it rose in the sky. Its luminous nature suggested a low…
It’s just an old road,
it splits two pieces of land.
But on the right day,
a day that feels perfect,
it can be a mindful place,
one where body and brain
feel in sync with one another.
Bright blue sky above,
no humidity to make me sweat,
no water in the mud hole to
carefully creep around.
Only the gravel and the dirt
mixed together, forming a base.
Trees grow along the fenceline,
housing the homes of happy birds.
As I walk, they sing to each other.
A rabbit crosses in the distance.
He will not allow me to get close.
I reach the…
Lately, we’ve noticed our two doves
making their home in a crowded pear tree.
They swoop in, one after the other,
to a limb deep and hidden among the leaves.
We walk by the tree with our dog on a leash.
We hear the sudden ruffle of wings.
The sound is full and fast, abrupt and loud.
If we don’t hurry by, they will be flying out.
They seem to be finicky old birds.
They like their privacy quite a lot.
Anytime we walk too close,
you guessed it: a sudden, scary ruffle.
At the end of the day, we…
It’s nice when you can hear the water
before you can see the water.
You can imagine what it looks like
then be astonished by its first sight.
There’s a certain smell
that most creeks have:
a wet, rocky, almost fishy smell,
but fishy in a good way.
In a healthy creek, water flows
in tranquility, clear and cool,
a lens to a world aquatic,
one where change is a constant.
Silver minnows reflecting the light,
moving as one, disappearing as hundreds.
Water spilling over jagged rocks,
rolling back, hard against itself.
It longs for the sweeping bend
Days without care,
running with cousins,
swinging that long arc,
a knotty rope tied off high.
The sounds that ‘ole roof made,
the brush of a limb across the tin,
the raindrops, loud and rumbling
while we waited inside.
I’ll not forget the minty smell,
the vegetation that grew,
a rocky hillside by the road,
a tunnel of trees that led you there.
The creak in the floors,
you knew you were there.
Aged wood on the porch,
we’d sit and whittle for a while.
And then to the pond,
bobbers float, a tap, a tug.
Fat bluegill, a bent cane pole,
After reading an article a few weeks ago, here on Medium, I wrestled with myself about making a rebuttal to one of the responses to the article. The article projected an idea that prayer was pointless, declaring that actions were a far better route to take. Nothing wrong with that. Action is usually a better ally when facing a problem.
However, one particular response was an unabashed statement to the effect of prayer being a “delusionary waste of time.” Really, I thought to myself. How could one know so much about this grand universe that we inhabit that they could…
few and far between.
It’s the wrong time of year,
should be droplets instead.
They are unique,
each one of them,
each in their own way.
As if they are made
in a snowflake factory,
one at a time, then
the mold thrown away.
Their geometric shapes
are designs on display,
fractal in nature,
but alien in some way.
Billions and trillions,
different as night and day.
We try to explain it
but there is nothing to say.
Billions and Trillions?
Those numbers don’t stand.
Snowflakes are more
like the grains of sand,
the stars in the sky…
Husband, Father, Writer, Future Retired Paper Mill Employee, Eco-Friendly — Peace-Loving — Pet Owner