Words

By Cynthia Scodova


This day at thy creating Word

First o’er the earth the light was poured:

O Lord, this day upon us shine

And fill our souls with light divine

                                         Universalis Hymn

                                                                                                                        Google Images

                                                        The morning comes
                                                        like soft hands
                                                        out of my dreaming,
                                                        where I wake

                                                        twisting words
                                                        in flames of possibilities
                                                        between the tips
                                                        of attention;

                                                        becoming the coloring glass
                                                        I am looking through
                                                        for glimpses of the unfathomable
                                                        beauty of You;

                                                        holding them up  to the limitless,
                                                        unapproachable-bright
                                                        molting hues
                                                        of You.

                                                        These small spheres
                                                        of words
                                                        like all clacking colors
                                                        of marbles

                                                        rolling over the edges
                                                        of meaning,
                                                        into the wells
                                                        of the unspeakable,

                                                        where
                                                        we lower our
                                                        myriad
                                                        pails,

                                                        dipping
                                                        into the dark
                                                        un-reflecting
                                                        there.


Cynthia writes at  The Mad-eyed Monk.

Honoring God's gift of creation

By Lara

Sunset on the Plains by Bierstadt (Wikimedia Commons)

My family spent last Saturday morning on the river bank, picking up the kind of Gluppity-Glupp and Schloppity-Schlop that Dr. Seuss wrote about in his children’s book, The Lorax, which chronicles the plight of the environment.

We woke early that morning without the fanfare of green eggs and ham to participate in this city wide endeavor to involve residents in cleaning and preserving one of our natural and most precious resources – our waterways.

While no one wants to pick up someone else’s trash, no matter what fun Seussical name you call it, the day couldn’t have been more glorious. The sun fanned its rays warming the cool chill in the air, the flowers boasted spectrums of color that can’t be found in a jumbo-size box of Crayolas and the grayish-blue river pulsed peacefully and rhythmically as if the gentle breeze was singing it a lullaby.

I chose to volunteer at a section along the river walk where I routinely exercise with several dear friends. 

For years, we have walked over two large bridges that link different sides of our downtown and along the expanse of this part of the river walk.

We lose the weight of our worries on these walks as we talk about everything from dying parents to our own parental concerns for our children.  It’s not all morose; we are friends and as such delight in everything about one another from the trivial to the triumphant.

And, we do this amid the stunning backdrop of our downtown buildings that stretch to the skies, and the arches of our bridges, which stand in homage to the vast waterway that flow beneath them.


 Continue reading at Lara's blog Mercy Me! I've got work to do.