You won't believe what I saw on my walk today.... "Holy Cow!"
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You won't believe what I saw on my walk today.... "Holy Cow!"
~ ~ ~ For Rose ~ ~ ~ O Pioneer, she walks so far And whispers her secrets to the breeze Delighted by the world she sees... The wind on the water, the waving trees A bird in its nest and a rose in its bower The light that changes with every hour...
And her delight is God's delight In His humble daughter He is well pleased. ws 01/26
_____ A Book of Days ______ The end of a year and what’s to be said That hasn’t been said before? For each year of days, let us give our praise Each one different from the year before…
And each new year is a book of days Three hundred sixty-five or more… And on each fresh page we renew our praise Each one different from the day before.
And if you could change one day for another As you rate them good to poor, Are there days you would wish you had never lived And days you would ask for more?
"There will be days and days like this”… The young would feign implore But the agèd will answer “Not so fast… For that last day to explore."
O, the moment you witness a baby born Or the day you see a friend no more… We cannot change them; we cannot know - So we bow our heads and close the door.
“Lord, give us joy,” the psalmist says, “To match the sadness of days of yore... And prosper our works" we do humbly ask... Then fall silent and say no more.
I tell you a secret... “we shall be changed” When the clouds roll back like a golden door “In the twinkling of an eye, we rise” To new life on some glorious shore.
Envision a day that never ends Eternal joy forevermore… When we will see Him as He is… “Carpe diem”… and say no more.
ws 12/31/25
Except from an imaginary sci-fi novel...
He had been a colonist on Mars for months now but he still shivered each time he witnessed a pale blue sunset. Each day on the tiny planet was about 40 minutes longer than a day on Earth. And for most of his colleagues, it was a time of intense home sickness.
It had seemed like a great adventure to sign up for this mission... But now he wished it were over. He wondered if his soul would shrink, shrivel and grow smaller... finally turning blue around the rim... and eventually disappear? Would his dreams be increasingly colored by that blasted frigid teal? There was a chance in a few years of a return home and he had been the first to sign the list... But he realized now it would probably never happen.
He turned away quickly as the tiny blue dot slipped below the horizon. A faint Martian wind stirred the sands as he stumbled toward a small orange rectangle... artificial light from the window of the mess hall. The engineered food, tasty at first, now seem to him like swallowing sludge.
"Damn me," he muttered. "I'm not a pioneer! I'm a prisoner... and a pauper! And what I wouldn't give for the sight of a real sunset on earth."
The powers and principalities that haunted the thin Martian atmosphere laughed with a wickedly gleeful gritty sound... like sand etching graffiti on the steel sides of the sleep quonset. And swooping down they formed a circle around him... enshrouding him like a black cocoon.
Hope dies very slowly on Mars, but they were already millennia old... they had time to wait. - ws 09/25
AMONG THE RUINS We are the children of forgotten fathers The sons of heroes molding into dust We sing in tones once tuned to a kithara Our movements tracing Aphrodite's lust
Beyond horizons faded into shadow We see the ancient ruins vaguely formed We hear the martial beat of ghostly armies Returning heroes long dead and unarmed
And sitting ‘neath the moon they watched in wonder We gaze upon the same ethereal sphere Their dreams are now our silent faded visions Ours mark the boundaries of their deepest fear.
Speak to the ruins… listen to their answer A silence or a whisper in the wind The sound of sands encrusting broken stonework A plea to stop and not begin again.
ws 08/25
Who will grant me that my words may be written? Who will grant me that they may be marked down in a book... With an iron pen and in a plate of lead, or else be graven with an instrument in flint stone. For I know that my Redeemer liveth, and in the last day I shall rise out of the earth.
And I shall be clothed again with my skin, and in my flesh I will see my God. Whom I myself shall see, and my eyes shall behold, and not another: this my hope is laid up in my bosom. - Job 19:23-37 (Douai-Rheims) I know that my Redeemer lives And that He shall stand forth At the last day upon the earth. And though I be consumed Yet in the flesh... with my own eyes Nor those of any other I shall see God.
O Holy Child, O Mother Mild
Singing softly a lullaby
Over two thousand years
It reaches our ears
When the night is full of stars
And we hear a baby's cry
"O come let us adore him"...
Angelic voices ring
Though the wind blows cold
And we're suddenly old
Still the night is full of stars
And we hear a baby's cry
I love you dearest Mother
I love you Holy Child
Through my wandering way
When my thoughts go astray
Yet I ever return when the night's full of stars
And I hear a baby's cry...
[ws 2024]
SUMMER MEMORIES
Sometimes on summer days
When Mom or Dad would pack us in the car
We'd drive down to the river to allay
The heat from our burning, shining star
Oppressive heat that smothered and delighted us
The rocky river bottom at the swimmin' hole
Cut sharply on our tender tiny toes
But we knew the coolest water was the deepest
How long can you hold your breath
There's a dragon fly on your shoulder
Are there really water moccasins under that bridge...
Look... my finger tips are wrinkled
And then one summer... neighbor Kathy
Taught me how to swim
And the water became a great adventure
I could float forever looking at the sky
My parents hadn't much to give us In those days...
A blanket spread out underneath the shady elm
A glass of Kool-Aid summer sweetness
And the joy of knowing they were always there
But the river was the special treat
That got us through the weeks
Of no school and of drifting piled up clouds
Of twilights that lasted till bedtime
Father Zosima said the greatest blessing
That a man can have
Is the memory of a happy childhood...
And he wasn't wrong
But happiest we were when the days were long
And the full moon nights were hazy white with wonder
And the insects hummed and the grass was green
And eternity stretched out like a winding trail
More blessed than we knew
Because we did not ask for much
Just daddy's voice calling "come to supper"
And mama passing by with a tender touch
And summer, summer, summer, summer days
Days that linger in my memory's haze
And always in my mind I go back there
When summer days are long and the nights are fair
ws - 2024
NINE MONTH NOVENA TO OUR LADY OF GUADALUPE Let us pray.
(In these early days of the novena, carry the events of the first apparition in your hearts as you pray the following each day):
O Virgin Mother of God, we fly to your protection and beg your intercession against the darkness and sin which ever more envelop the world and menace the Church. Your Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, gave you to us as our mother as He died on the Cross for our salvation. So too, in 1531, when darkness and sin beset us, He sent you, as Our Lady of Guadalupe, on Tepeyac to lead us to Him Who alone is our light and our salvation.
Through your apparitions on Tepeyac and your abiding presence with us on the miraculous mantle of your messenger, Saint Juan Diego, millions of souls converted to faith in your Divine Son. Through this novena and our consecration to you, we humbly implore your intercession for our daily conversion of life to Him and the conversion of millions more who do not yet believe in Him. In our homes and in our nation, lead us to Him Who alone wins the victory over sin and darkness in us and in the world.
Unite our hearts to your Immaculate Heart so that they may find their true and lasting home in the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus. Ever guide us along the pilgrimage of life to our eternal home with Him. So may our hearts, one with yours, always trust in God's promise of salvation, in His never-failing mercy toward all who turn to Him with a humble and contrite heart. Through this novena and our consecration to you, O Virgin of Guadalupe, lead all souls in America and throughout the world to your Divine Son in Whose name we pray. Amen.
“But ask the beasts, and they will teach you; the birds of the air, and they will tell you; or the plants of the earth, and they will instruct you; and the fish of the sea will declare to you. Who among all these does not know that the hand of the Lord has done this? In his hand is the life of every living thing and the breath of all mankind.
- Job 12:7-10
There is a spiritual element in the music of Sufjan Stevens which sometimes outstrips the comprehensibility of his lyrics...
November is an odd month... the month of "poor souls." Victor Frankenstein brought his cursèd creature to life in this dark month. It exists as a time of falling temperatures and the indescribable smell of singed dust the night we first turn on the furnace... praying that trusted relic will last one more season.
October's brilliance has faded and the dominant color now is gray... wet leaves pack the corners of the house. We sense that the loveliest birds have flown away south and the ones that remain to winter are reclusive and somber. They sit on frosty twigs and scowl... wondering why the sun shines each day so briefly... and the nights are long and cruel.
Inside we search for our musty sweaters, our heather-colored sweatshirts, and eat supper in diminished light planning how to fill the hours till bedtime. In the cheerless evening, cats are helpful, even if they seem more intent on seeking their own comfort than comforting you. We remember the dog we lost a few years back, whom we miss so much. His happiness was just to be near you... Good ol' Red!
Then one night a storm moves in and the wind whistles under the eaves with a sound like a chorus of ghostly voices... They do not sing "alleluia," but rather "dies irae." A chill settles into the corners of the room; we suspect it will squat there until March or even April.
God bless the house with children who have not lived long enough to know regret. Thanksgiving, our harvest festival is not far off, you remember... and then Christmas will rush upon us! In a moment's inspiration you think to light a candle... "better to light a candle than curse the darkness." Pouring a drink you wonder... where is that mystery novel I was planning to read? On the radio, the classical station is playing Fauré's "Requiem." Pie Jesu Domine, Pie Jesu...
Oh show me where the kittens sleep
And put my mind to rest
To know that they are safe and warm
And loved and truly blessed
Oh show me where the kittens sleep
And put my heart at ease
I need to see they're safe from harm
Oh show them to me please
For if they sleep by mother's side
A-suckling in a row
Or snoring with their limbs thrown wide
It's good for me to know
Yes show me where the kittens sleep
And if you do, well then
I'll go in peace to my own bed
And I'll not ask again
WNS June, 2023
~ For Memorial Day ~ I paused at the edge of the cemetery Hardly daring to go in It seemed to be such sacred ground And the dead lay in peace... My presence would be a distraction Would the birds stop singing? Would the dappled shadows that play upon the stones Mind the intrusion of a more solid shadow... That of an old man passing by? But a whispered prayer seemed necessary On this day of honoring the dead One great sacrifice surpasses all the others And we count as lucky those who are not called to it Rather let us continue in humility and gratitude In reverence hued with awe To remember... that is our duty To remember those gone on To clear the field before us They will not wait long for us to join them It would be best if we meet as old friends. (wns 28/05/23)
“In the last days, God says, ‘I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams.’” - Acts 2:17
To the Nile - John Keats [1795-1821]
Son of the old Moon-mountains African! Chief of the Pyramid and Crocodile! We call thee fruitful, and that very while A desert fills our seeing’s inward span: Nurse of swart nations since the world began, Art thou so fruitful? or dost thou beguile Such men to honour thee, who, worn with toil, Rest for a space ‘twixt Cairo and Decan? O may dark fancies err! They surely do; ‘Tis ignorance that makes a barren waste Of all beyond itself. Thou dost bedew Green rushes like our rivers, and dost taste The pleasant sunrise. Green isles hast thou too, And to the sea as happily dost haste.
“The Wednesday before last, Shelley, Hunt and I, wrote each a sonnet on the river Nile: some day you shall read them all.” – Life, Letters &c., 1848, Volume 1, page 98
Et après...