Anamaximand​er

Lying in the November woods Listening to the caw of crow and chip of Chickadee; Rush of wind through the canyon like a freshening stream, Pondering grey beginnings and ashen endings As afternoon falls quickly in the hills.
Time, an indefinite stream woven through, As a fawn runs white from shadows or fear Hill to hill, air to ethers, now and then blend into One. All pithy human attempts to describe fall like crumbling leaves Piling and crunching, composting, enriching the fragile soil. Listening, silent, i lie on the edge Between two worlds, or all worlds, i peer into the abyss; danger lies immanent. The woods are no more alive in the autumn Than the dense, rich forest is September. The cloak is torn and brown at my feet So i glimpse within the delicate dance Of chipmunk and wren. If i lie still and listen the movement awakens And the “relata” reveals chaos and harmony , Always movement toward and away. Rumbling echoes, a shaft of sunlight, It is all the November woods dying and generating.   i struggle for words or a foothold on the cliff Do i fall like a spent leaf surrendered in the wind Or victim of gravity, fallen to the elements i can no longer explain Lying in the November woods?
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Boots

We are nearing the end of the 31 Days series. I am sorry that yesterday’s post did not make it up on time. My internet reception was down last evening. So, today you receive the one that I thoughtfully prepared yesterday and a lighthearted one for today as well. Fall is more than a month old and it is time to think of the wind and boots. One is serious and the other is silly. I hope you have some fun with the one below.

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I live in a lovely locale, where four beautiful seasons provide variety. We are blessed with enough precipitation to keep the spring and summer green. I even enjoy  winter snow. Mud does not strike me as propitious. As the leaves tumble-down and the temperatures drop I have pulled my boots out of summer slumber. I have not needed boots, but I can wear the cute boots once again.

Today I sported black riding-boots trimmed with ruffles. The leaves all covering the ground prevented me from stepping in any unpleasantness, but just under the carpet of gold in my driveway I noticed something I forgot about. Mud was just underneath.

Somehow, I forgot about the nature of the beast. I was remembering snow and cooler weather. I had utterly mislaid the main reason why boots are useful. Mud comes out as the grass and weeds lose their lush summer growth.

For all its’ sticky, ugliness mud does serve a purpose. It is a reminder that the ground is soft and workable. Farmers will need to plow their fall fields. There are cool weather crops that need moisture to grow. I could focus my attention on the ugly since it doesn’t serve me. I find it hard to find  very much comfort. I don’t have a farm. But then I remember, that boots will prevent the worst of the mud.

They used to say that even the darkest rain-cloud has a silver lining. No matter how sticky the mud, it won’t pull the cute boots off your feet.

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Candlelight

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If you follow my blog you may have noticed that I like to write about God’s unconditional love for us. It is best demonstrated to us by Jesus taking our sins to the cross and dying in our place.

We are forgiven, restored and endowed with the new position of “children of God” through His love.

The self-sacrificing love that He taught is called agape in the original Greek.

It is amazing how something we all need-love-can be so elusive for us human beings.

The Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke and John) delight in teaching us what real love is. Jesus is what real love is. Jesus is like light, says John. Paul picks up much of this in his letters to the early Christian churches.

Love and light are not supposed to be fleeting. In Revelation we are told that in the New Jerusalem at the end of time that there will be no more night. The sun won’t be needed either.

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Even when all the stars fall from the sky we will not be left in darkness.

We will not ever be abandoned or alone.

Jesus will be the everlasting light.

God will live with us. He will make His home there with us and the light will permanently replace all darkness and despair.

In the meantime, it is autumn in the northern hemisphere. The darkness is increasing nightly. How are we to live in the light, shine light to a dark world when we are living in the darkness?

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Symbolically we can light a candle. There is something calming about the light of candles. They are reminders of the sun since they cast the same warm, golden light, but on a drastically reduced scale. Candlelight reminds us that the darkness will never win. It flickers, but it doesn’t go out. It shines and brings light to what is near.

Have you ever noticed that we all acquire a lovely glow when we sits in it’s beam? Agape love lights us up when we are spending time with God.

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Try a new ritual with your family. Light a candle and read a favorite Bible verse. Tell your loved ones something you appreciate about them. Conclude with a simple prayer thanking God for giving us love and light that will never end.

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It could be with dinner, or at bedtime, but a simple ritual like this could be a special way to build your family up in love. As the holiday seasons become intense and pressure to do more, and more builds schedule a few moments each day to remember love.

A few moments to light the dark with the promise of love, present and future can create a beautiful family tradition and memory.

The Lonely Rain

Today’s Poem

Tip, tap, increasing rap, someone’s tapping at my window.
Unlike a ring or tone that sings, no one’s looking for me.
My attention drawn, the torrent begins refrain long.
The sky looks sullen, grey, like a lonely specter wanting to come in.
Keep it out! Hide within! Cold blasts from the north whirl the soggy din.
I flip on lights looking for golden gleam, to keep out the lonely,
No one is looking for me.

The winds whirl, the boughs shake, the leaves are falling in the lake.
Washing down the golden treasure, fall’s brilliance is tricked by weather.
Never a fan of gore or fear, the holiday is not for me one of cheer.
I tuck myself in, with busy routine. I’m too busy to notice, they’re not for me.
The streets turn wet and quiet. All seek solace within, enough of the bustle.
Darkness falls early; the wind shakes the ivy, slaps the window, a sound that is churl-y.
No one is looking for me.

Tears from the sky, though none from my eye, force me to wonder. Why?
The path seems so long, courageous, forlorn, like a caricature drawn.
I wait in the wet, but dry indoors, sodden inside, I know the answer, “Not yet.”
Pitter, patter is a song of spring sweet, fall spits in my face, no one looking for me.
It shudders the windows, echo in chimney, I dine with the widows.
Wet-cold without, thawing in company, God lights a hope no one can see,
Surely, someday, someone, will be looking for me.

Jesus waits

Jesus waits