Browsing Category: Journal Pages

        Sky is overcast.  I cannot see the sun, and there is a heavy of humidity absent for many days—portend of a storm to come.           The cicadas swell and wane in crescendo song.  I sit beneath a sycamore—broad leaves and balls still in summer green.         I watch my son […]

               August’s feel has made me melancholy. I know I should be grateful in reprieve and arrival of a cool, to take comfort in the change; but in it, I feel summer’s end.  Summer’s death into usher of fall when we are perhaps most open, showing—and knowing—of our truest selves.  But then comes winter, cold […]

               There is a short story by Ernest Hemingway, “Fathers and Sons,” that is one of my most-favorites ever read.  Growing up, there was a book of his short stories—The Finca Vigia Edition—that I would check out again and again from our local library to read and reread the stories shared within.                I have […]

               On Sundays when it’s just he and I at Mass, my youngest son, he never stops speaking.                We arrive just as mass begins, and I let him pick our seats.  He leads to the left—side where we usually sit because, in morning light, the pews are cast in colors from stained glass stories […]

               Last night, our smalltown held a “Meet the Cards” Night in our high school gym where every fall middle school, high school team—and player—were announced and introduced to all who came to see.                 It is our oldest two’s first year as high schoolers.                 We arrive late and sit near the rafters—great view […]

        It is disgustingly hot out.  I don’t want to be outside—but here I am, smoking a cigar because I know it is a one conditioned activity where I am given time alone.         I’m peopled out, not in a negative way, but the way that comes of an introvert who believes, […]

        Slowly, I tweak, refining on the chicken coop.  Closed in, I made it too hot and dark.  Preparing for new chicks—another start, another learning—I block the open floor beneath the roost until large enough to stand on the wire mesh without feet falling through, open to predators that check at night.       […]

               If work spaces are reflections of our life and order, then both are disheveled mess.                 I look at my desk.  It is covered in clutter.  I don’t know where all it came from but, without question, it is there.  Not taking time to clean and clear away, it’s corroded space and place for […]