dragging the hand through freshly tilled soil stirs silent spirits to life, encouraging a closeness a purpose of being as the hand passes through previous millennial seasons each with a message of endurance and promise, impartial to flowers or weeds for this year or next
There was disorder within the order a calmness unexplained the seasons understood, time blinked with favor the wonder of it all held captive the growth of something new reminding us of change the solid cornerstones remain benchmarks of what yet becomes real
A vine of words, green and waxed full spring from his talking. He stares at the sky, never tired of dark blue, the unlimited wide space where he reaches a hand toward it. A subtle breeze from behind touches his hair, lifting an edge, disrupting order without his notice. Cloud shadows form … More STRENGTH
Roger Singer 