Posts Tagged ‘Images’

The cool mornings and slow warm-ups keep the wasps sluggish this time of year. But the late afternoon sun and warm days bring them out to swarm the few fall flowers that remain. Goldenrod, especially, the diner of choice it seems. Like a farmer, collecting the fall crops before the first freeze, so too the winter-loathing wasp gathers nectar—a last sustenance perhaps? While not venturing out in the morning, they redeem the afternoon, busy with the task at hand. What must I learn? What must I attend to?What sluggishness must I throw off, for unlike the wasp, can I not avoid a cold winter of the soul by redeeming the time?



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Foreshadow: to represent, indicate, or typify beforehand.

Precursor: one that precedes the approach of another.

These leaves shout something, but what? Are they crying, “Fall is coming,” a herald in this lush land, warning the chlorophyll of its imminent demise? Unashamed of showing their true colors over the need to get out the message, they proudly precede the wonder of blazing hills. And so they go mostly unnoticed: no pointing with oohs and ahs, no photo ops with the kids, no cover photo on Facebook. Self-effacing, a precursor to all the rest.

But foreshadowing connotes a darker theme on the other side of beauty: falling and barrenness, a cessation of  rustling. Canopies and shade give way to the realities of disease and the evidence of forgotten wind and ice and careless pruning. A silent world with all its skeletons on display.

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Grass blades are trees

To weave your web between,


And dew drops—the decoration

Like neon lights on the strip.


Insignificance unnoticed in the dark

Becomes brilliance highlighted by the dawn.

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Then the nostalgia of better days—

Hard work.

Smell the hay field,

Do you?

Clean cut and earthy.

A transport back

To a summer before suits

And bills and business—

A summer of sailing

On the tree swing

Out and over and splash.

A summer of squash

And chickens and chiggers.

And riding on grandpa’s tractor.

Or is it just parked for the night?

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Is it bad to have a mixed bag of ready and not so ready? Mature and immature? Sweet and bitter? While I wouldn’t recommend picking the yellow blueberries, when it comes to life, the mixed bag is unavoidable. The immature and bitter inhabit our world just like the mature and sweet, often hanging on the same vine of family or work or church—or even in us. We must not be so presumptuous to assume that we are fully developed. Might there be a tinge of bitterness? Could that blue tint of maturity that faces the sun blind us to a shade of red or pink in the shadows?  We must guard our hearts against bitterness when the injustices and hardships and disappointments of life invade. For only then will we grow and mature into the sweet image of our creator.

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Freedom is sweet, but if all one thinks about is how it benefits self, then the substance that will build bones and muscle to do the real work of freedom is lacking.

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Not chirping

Blue not blending

With all the green, like usual.



Not flitting

Focused, not a blur

Darting from shrub to tree.


But what are you focused on?

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