Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Cheating the season...

Down at the tailgate market last Friday, bought some beautiful escarole plants from Walter, and had them in the ground by nightfall. They seem off to a good start. Hopefully, we'll have some bitters in our salads right up until we get a hard freeze.

Sometimes, in agriculture as in literature, one might cheat the season a bit. At least, intrepid gardeners and writers seem ever compelled to try.

Monday, September 26, 2016


When I walk home in the evening
it is morning in my soul,
for the Friend who walks with me
is opening worlds.

Sunday, September 25, 2016

...into all.

"Again, again we come and go,
changed, changing. Hands
join, unjoin in love and fear,
grief and joy. The circles turn,
each giving into each, into all." 
                                             -Wendell Berry

Saturday, September 24, 2016

Once in a while...

Once in a while, someone who's read my stuff will ask me to talk to some people they know. Writing can be an awfully solitary business, while talking involves company, so I usually jump at the chance.

Today, an invitation came to go down the mountain later this fall and facilitate a conversation on the topography of prayer with a Stephen Ministry group in South Carolina. Even though writing is about as close to prayer as I ever get, I'm hopeful I might have a few notions to contribute.

For sure, I'll come back home with more insight than I took out the door when I left. The greatest thing about talking is that it leads us into opportunities for listening. That goes for prayer as well.

Friday, September 23, 2016

I'll pray for you...

This isn't a political statement. It is a spiritual lament. We live in a culture that has already sold it's collective soul. I wish my friends who are busy heaping garbage on one another would spend their time trying to get together on how on God's green earth we are going to take care of one another in a failed state. If you're trusting in Trump, you're as insane as he is. If you think Clinton can save us, you've been reading the wrong set of books.

We can't buy our way out of this mess. We can't fight our way to freedom. We can't build a wall tall enough or thick enough to keep out the stink of our own fear and selfishness. We will love our way home together or we will all die alone in the wilderness.

This is just a rant from a foolish old man who as a child in a Baptist Sunday school had no better sense than to believe that song we were taught to sing about how Jesus loves all the little children of the world.

He never claimed love is easy. He just said it is the only way that will get us through. At my late stage, I've tried most of the other ways by now. None of them did a damn thing for me, and my route is littered with casualties, guilty and innocent.

Be good to one another, Children, while you can still do anything at all. I'll pray for you.

Thursday, September 22, 2016

Here and gone...

The Main Muse's City Cousins have all gone down the mountain to home now. After two days surrounded by lively and opinionated women, this old house seems awfully big and still and quiet. Simon is still looking for them.

Having grown up in a house full of women whose husbands and fathers were away at war, so much feminine presence calls up vivid memories of a childhood I thought long forgot, when I had no responsibilities except to be lovable, and was the darling of all.

I'm nobody's darling now, excepting one, perhaps, but I have been tolerated right well lately, and for that I am profoundly grateful. And, yes, I miss them every one already.

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Autumn Bright

Summer light to autumn bright,
Walk I will, fly I might,
Freedom ever in my sight
Until my wander brings me right.