Painting: bright pink, purple, and coral flowers fill the frame, image by DWilliam, on Pixabay, modified Rosary in Hands Godmother Rosette wears it well, the scent of joy masquerading as wild rose. She sits in her wicker rocking chair, the white paint peeling off in corners of the wood where the squeak is heard. She has rocked for decades casually with a rosary in hand, sitting in sunlight, welcoming the breeze. Her sun hat sits at reach. Her hair, the shimmer of s

fields and sun, image by Milena M, on Pixabay, modified Undefeated (Inspired by cheerleader Brooke Walker) The story airing on the news caught my eye; I listened intently as the telling unfolded. The loss of a foot – devastating to most – but even more so in one so young, seemed immeasurably sad as I sat and watched, her future dependent on the need for two, enabling the ability to jump and vault and lift, the absence threatening to end prospective plans, stalling her m

abstract, image by Prawny, on Pixabay, modified Child of the Father I am fire-purged, Grace-fashioned, Love-enfolded. I am overshadowed, Much-delivered, Spirit-borne. I am sorely-tested, Not forsaken, Footsore but still climbing. I am found sheep, Emerging butterfly. I am my Father's child. *

"Jonah Under His Gourd," by Maarten van Heemskerck, 1561. Utterance (after "Jonah Under His Gourd" by Maarten van Heemskerck, 1561) Thy will be done, O Lord, I pray, Since Thou art God, the only One, And who am I to disobey? Thy will be done. With vine or worm, each with its run, Thy might is rightly on display, And I must trust in shade or sun. Whatever Thou shalt do or stay, Thy plan is not for man to shun; On this and any other day, Thy will be done. Jane Blanchard of Au

image by rihaij, on Pixabay, modified Fog This morning the treetops emerge from the marine layer that rolls in at night, bringing a scent of the sea inland, misting us as one. I step outside with my morning cup on a deck high above the street, as the light brightens between fingers of a pine, its curved green needles parting the haze. At first the sun is tentative, dancing forward and back, the way I hesitate to disperse my confining memories, those imprints of ruin tha

wild daffodils, image by Erika Varga, on Pixabay Crow's Nest, Andalusia, Alabama No daffodils in the driveway of this BBQ spot. There's a 4-year-old toddler who blurts out, "A happy day to you," every time the front door squeaks open. Order 12 comes up, and she chirps, "Number 12, Southern Belle, Number 12, Southern Belle, NUMBER 12, SOUTHERN BELLE!" and who knows why, other than it’s the same reason bluebells peek out early in spring, their own form of down-home music. Grand

police cap, image by OpenClipart-Vectors, on Pixabay A Boy Who Has Earned His Angel Wings In honor of Devarjaye “D.J.” Daniel Since we first saw him at the State of the Union, he has captured all of our hearts: a fighter, a dreamer— a boy battling— brave and stalwart. Diagnosed with Stage 3 brain cancer, told he had five months left to live— he found meaning from his father teaching him how to serve and give. Inspired by faith and godly wisdom, with resolve far beyond his yea

mountain lake with boat, image by Monika Iris, on Pixabay, modified It’s gonna be alright It’s gonna be alright, I know it for sure. As day comes after night, All sorrows have a cure. Don’t be afraid to dream, That is how souls speak. God is always on your team When it’s His will you seek. When sad, upset, or sick, Believe: “This too shall pass.” Your faith should not be weak, That’s what I learned at Mass. Be good, polite, and kind, Go out of your way

popcorn, image by Bruno, on Pixabay Sometimes Sometimes I think I can write poetry, words dancing in my brain, imagery popping like a jack in the box. Surprisingly scary. Other times I look at words on canvas, dreams blending hues of sapphire with silver, and the gentlest of star light. Everything is beautiful. Sometimes there are emotions bursting like popcorn waiting to be caught and joyfully savored. Memories smudge with the writing; they soften