Farewell Artown

As the sun sets upon another July, in the truckee meadows washoe valley realm of fame, may you rest easy in whatever you lie, and head those talk show rally helm grabs off before they even get in the game.

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HB to HP

Happy Birthday Harry Potter! Thank you for the magic, the stories, the companionship, and the tremendous legacy!

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Blood Moon

The smoke makes opaque what would otherwise take your breath away. But, sad to say, the moon looks this way because some folks, no jokes, lost their homes today. Flames came to play, but left dismay, they came and went, erasing entire life’s pay. This red moon rising only to slay. May the rains return, and send the flames away.

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~ but God… ~

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So loved the world,

created,

grew,

created more,

humbled himself,

stayed,

persisted,

helped,

revealed,

was filled with joy,

wept,

was faithful,

built,

was there,

laughed,

saw,

heard,

felt,

placed,

healed,

taught,

reconciled,

and the present tense of everything that is listed here.

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~ as usual, I am wrong ~

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In the midst of derision and division, we find ourselves idly holding pieces to a puzzle that has fallen apart. Each onlooker’s idea of the original picture has changed quite a bit from the start, and each placement releases bottled entities from the very first time things were laid out. It has become our job, whether we like it or not, whether we want to or not, to hold the edges, to check the corners, and repair the gaping vacuum in the middle of the table, where no one wants to sit and lay claim to the devastation.

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Nehemiah 2:17

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First Sunrise

Day one of a life together, first sunrise, first break of light on the horizon. May we grow closer together, love more deeply, laugh together often, and wisen. May we speak the vows through actions, and become one, reconciled completely. May we rise above the factions, do everything that needs done, and rest beside each other sweetly.

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into and out of

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Color of our Rise

We touch down for refreshment, and then climb to see how high we can. The body of water might appear heaven sent, but the smoke in the air is too a part of the plan. The air is thick around us, and the glare has picked to confound us, and though the blanket of doubt may surround us, the color of our rise will ground us.

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Devastation or progress? It depends on who you ask. Clearing the path for benefit seems a simple enough task. Yet, in this game of chess, we play on both sides, regardless of how we are blessed, or our worn mask. For the giant mess might mean the stage is set to some, to others that it must be cleared to less before even a single other can bask.

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Rungs of the ladder

The act of living and engaging for some might be tiresome at best. For others, if the act of dying would come, then they would see themselves blessed.

We’re all climbing rungs on this massive abstract ladder, rhyming, giving hugs, no longer passive, rather attacking the mad hatter.

Fighting, amidst the chatter, too many school and mass shooting’s splatter, and the occasional letter from Dan Rather,

Climbing these rungs,

which celebrated as we’ve been stung, poisoned our lungs, and stepped in dung,

Yet all the while,

told to smile,

and act as if nothing was the matter.

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