Day by day, growth is seldom noticed.Growth is gradual. Silent and slow. Invisible as it inches upward.There’s not much to measure…until there is. Fields of wheat offer a fisted bouquet of metaphors.So much symbolism set forth among seeds.Preparation and planting, toil and soil, waiting and hoping, gathering and reaping. And somewhere in the process, the…
Stopping By Fields On a Harvest Afternoon
*my apologies to Robert Frost Whose fields these are I think I know.His house sits there across the road.And we are in the combine here.To watch it cut row after row. We knew that harvest hovered near The cycle of another year. With sweeping fields of golden grainAnd cloudless skies all blue and clear. The tractor trundles…
Wherein We Consider the Betrayal of Ourselves
As I turn pages in the seventh chapter, I’m gripped by this proclamation. By the subsequent question. A wise and kind and thoughtful friend replies to the author’s inquiry.She offers reliable, gracious wisdom. “You’ve suffered three betrayals. More than any person should.” she says. I paraphrase my perception of the conversation found on page one…
The Plot Twist of Redemption
An hour and a half left in my audiobook and I’ve succumbed to tears. It’s seven thirteen of the a.m. as my wheels hum on the highway.I’d kept secretly rooting for this character. I couldn’t quite explain why; he didn’t seem to deserve it. He sneers. He’s very unhelpful. Rather hateful. He belongs to the…
The Compassion of Companioned Presence Without Pressure
The wind howls outside as it’s done all day. I am weary of it. It bears down hard as I step out the backdoor, my arms laden with bags and boxes.I wave at my nieces as I deliver supper to the wheat field. I greet them and tell them I feel quite complainy about the…
