I have looked at stars and not been moved
At Otium Sanctum: I welcome my three-in-the-morning nocturnal interludes from the bed covers. After pausing beneath a spruce tree I walk the short stone path do...
Category: Nature
On spiritual experience
The chipping sparrow hunts the browning grass. It’s curious. Its hunting and pecking a pretence to draw near the oddity that sits in a wooden chair: the miscrea...
A lament for the madness–Days of grass
Days of grass These are the days of hollow eyes walking in hallowed towers with watching turrets, of pink petunias on bullet-hole balconies of long blue kisses ...
The Path
The path is short and from the road comes down a shallow incline to a slim clearing. There are songs here of black-capped chickadees and then, far off, domestic...