I had a conversation yesterday that blessed me immensely and I hope it blesses you. It includes two boys whom I will call Adam (8) and Matt (6). Me: Good morning Boys: Good morning Adam: I like your dress. It's pretty. Me: (looking down at my dress, laughing because everyone says that about this yellow … Continue reading He Said
She sat on the bridge rail Made of field stones, I sat on a mossy rock below Feet immersed in the ice Of May water running from Last month's snow, Watching it fall and chuckle Over moss coated rocks. diamond & emerald Something about the water Washes away stresses That never really mattered. sand & … Continue reading Like a River Glorious
I amble down the path in the evening sun, and there she is. Bare arms and feet slip out of her dress all pastel striped. She stands on a green knoll and blows little puffs unto the white ball in her little hand. "Planting dandelions?" I call to her. Monday to Friday she calls me … Continue reading Planting Dandelions
White, As winter’s snow, Soft, As rose petals, Smooth , As silk, Slim and long. These are pretty hands. Brown, From the hot sun, Rough, From days of toil, Scarred, By nails, Large and calloused. These are beautiful hands, The hands of Jesus.
Start with a history lesson on Rome, add a yet-unplanned, elementary art class, and you get a mosaic. At least, I did. In the making, I found some reflections. In high school, my geography teacher taught me that Canada has a cultural mosaic. Our American counter-parts have a melting pot. By this, he meant that … Continue reading Mosaic
I remember as a little girl, Wandering to the vacant lot in town, Stopping to pick the prettiest wildflowers, Then running them home to my mom, I don't remember what she said, But she kept them 'til they died, So, I know she must have liked them, And I knew, though flowers fade, Her love … Continue reading Flowers for Mom
. . . error is not a fault. It is an opportunity to learn.