From my point of view the world has no horizon, a person is known by her feet, the road is a slow rolling river of dust.
Read More
When I met her, she was sitting in a rocking chair on a front stoop just big enough for her chair, a pot of red geraniums, a mat that did not say welcome, and me.
Read More
Here are the things I need to be ready: Boots that fit, Socks that give the boots a little room for error…
Read More
Her hands speak. The skin is smooth, even at her age, polished by time and care.
Read More
Empty. The chamber in front of me was as empty as anything ever has been.
Read More
She slumped, arms crossed under her forehead, leaning on the lip of the water vessel.
Read More
On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him.
Read More
For he is our God, and we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand. Psalm 95:1–7a
Read More
The man sat by the entrance of his home. His skin was loose and brown, weathered by the steadily accumulating years. The moments of his life stretched around him like a spreading pool of rich green olive oil on a table top.
Read More
Wisdom is radiant and unfading, and she is easily discerned by those who love her, and is found by those who seek her.
Read More
The blood was dried in drops along his left side. Near his shoulder they were round, rusty brown disks, stiff and dry. Near his waist they were oblong, having fallen a greater distance.
Read More
Eyes blinded by tears—more than that—blinded by fear, blinded by dreams crushed as fine as the dust under her feet as she walks.
Read More
The lamp smoke smudged the walls. Jesus was standing in the corner, his forehead on the wall, peering out the window from the corner of his eye.
Read More