Like a Morning Glory

Like a Morning Glory

(for Theo)

You took me on adventures when you were 10.
I carried the backpack; you carried our bed. We plotted our
path to hidden countries in the basement. We got McDonald’s
ice cream and pizza because you did so well on your science exam.

Now you are 18, an adult, a fully formed fascination with life.
You carry the world like an explorer investigating the causes
of sky-birds who flew just above your head.

The earth is yours and all its fullness. The questions wait for
your examination. You carry them like postcards in your pocket.
You have rarely feared their answers; you waited for a solo voice.

I’ve seen you dance so certain that the floorboards captured your feet.
I’ve watched you sketch a friend or a new plant.
I’ve listened to you sing and tuned it like saltwater taffy.

Let the tailwinds send you higher, let the warm sun playfully
extract your laughter. May your curiosity carry you abundantly
into dog-eared chapters you will remember and remember again.

I can’t name them all, but you will, I’m sure. What do you
call that tree with heart-shaped leaves? How many colors are there
for daffodils or tulips? Can I transplant these peonies?

Let the wonder guide you; let it outsize the questions you pose,
the oceans you cross, and the friends who break bread with you.
I know the music will always lie just under the place where

Your heart beats for the friends you’ve made and the new ones
to come. You can change the world; you can spark it with hope.
You can share the taste of the river of life for every parched soul.

Your song continues, the new chorus is being written.
Sing it surely, sing it long. Leaving home you’ll find
the home will always return to you. Take your time.

May God’s hand guide you, may the rains fall warmly on your path.
May the blessings of constant sunlight capture your eyes.
And may this day, so full of promise, open like a morning glory budding.

Of Puppies, Children and Autumn Days

Of Puppies, Children and Autumn Days

(“I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to little children.” Matthew 11:25)

Mid-November in a Pacific Northwest village
along the Columbia River there is a neighborhood where
dogs and children run free and kids play basketball in the
middle of the street.
There are netted trampolines where the
boys and girls squeak
and dogs named “Winnie”
and
“Simmie”
and
“Kitty”
visit each other’s yards.
(Though the chihuahua is ferocious and rumored to be
demon-possessed, her owner knows she is only a child
protecting her new home from the giant monster puppies
that live either side of her.)

Two brothers smile at the old man in the middle,
moved here in pain and resigned to never move again.
The older, maybe 13, loves Kitty the chihuahua, ignores
her hackles and brings puppy Winnie over in hopes
they will play. The oldest of the trio of pups,
the chihuahua only cuddles with mommy and daddy.
But the neighbor boy may know something the rest of us
do not;
how to lure the love out of a silly little brown dog.

The younger brother skips just like puppy Winnie
and laughs through the wet grass in mid-Autumn.
His name is Cooper and the old man in the middle
told him his name means
“Barrel Maker”. He smiled. Ran and told his mom.

And they both waved at the man who loves having
children and puppies cut across his lawn on their
sunny day adventures.

Near The Top of The Hill

Near The Top of The Hill

(“Because of our God’s merciful compassion, the dawn from on high will visit us.” Luke 1:78)

The trail was no longer visible,
time and rain and winds and snow
had scraped the surface down to
virgin earth again.

All anyone could see was the lone stranger
silhouetted on the hill and
no one
asked how he got there.

But he knew.
But was too far away for his voice to carry.
He knew the company he kept at the
trailhead years ago.
He knew the risks they took and the
trout they caught
in waning daylight.
He could remember it all

Alone

Near the top of the hill.

Only a few had left him,
the rest simply scattered to other adventures.
Now the only connections he had were
electrons--
and wifi--
though that was spotty on the solitary lightyears
where he dwelt.

All anyone could see was a foggy figure
on the gray days when mist
turned the mountains to mystery again.
Those were the moments that prompted
theories of myth.

He was only a man.

Some days it felt as if his heart was left behind
somewhere near the beginning of the trail.
One degree off course and decades to walk
led him to the lonely seclusion he
had not chosen.

Each day began and
each day ended.
And those who looked on

Wondered what they had missed.