The Language of Flowers

The stormy blue and cream bookmark presented a bouquet of flowers. The message, inscribed in fading brown ink on the back, was of forget-me-nots, daisies, and greying ferns. This was my introduction to the language of flowers. Continue reading “The Language of Flowers”

12 of V in 2014

Wait in the spring grass,
Wait for the summer sun,
Wait under the autumn leaves,
Wait with the winter snow.

Hope until the time comes,
Patience as a bud grows,
Hope for the beauty there,
Patiently to see it full.

Wait, and do no fear,
Wait, and look up there,
Wait, and do take cheer,
Wait, and look to the promise.

TK 05.12.2014


The False Princess

I browsed the old library, looking for a story to pass the Sabbath afternoon. Those on vampires, werewolves, sex, lust, manipulation and deceit were easily ignored. They may be new stories, popular to a generation never taught what good stories are, but of no value to the mind and heart. New stories are good when they tell the old story in a new way.

The False Princess (Ellis O’Neal) caught my eye. Simple font, non-descriptive cover. Perhaps this would satisfy. Continue reading “The False Princess”

The Old Man and the Sea

Hemingway’s famous book does not take long to read. But it was not until after high school, after college, after three years of reading the Great Books, after AP English Literature, after all these, I finally read this little book.

I long wondered why The Old Man and the Sea is on the list of “must reads” of twentieth century literature. Continue reading “The Old Man and the Sea”



Tales and legends, history and politics, science and art.

A word once spoken caught out of time for the seasons to come. These are the words that have remained with me. I return to these stories, authors, and writings. Through them I step outside myself to understand where it is I am.

Café Church

The church cafe bustled with dozens of people between services. Parents picked their children up from the “Kid Zone”; one mother knelt mid-crowd and quickly dressed her daughter in a thick knit hat, a matching scarf, and fluffy coat. It was cold outside, on this first snowy Sunday of the winter. Many  church goers pumped coffee into white cups, dropping bills into the jar. A few standouts chose tea, sniffing and selecting from the loose-leaf tins. The ladies behind the counter hurried to stock supplies and process e-payments.

I sat at the bar stool by the tall window and sipped English Breakfast Tea. The milk perfectly complemented the full bodied drink. My psalm of the day, 107, lay open as I read it again. Let the redeemed of the LORD say so! the psalmist proclaimed, as he drew four pictures of God redeeming people. I stared across the cafe, absently aware of the hurrying around me. Waiting. I waited. Continue reading “Café Church”