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The balance between staying informed and staying sane is a fragile one. News cycles have become shorter and shorter until we are bombarded with an unending onslaught of bad news. I don’t think the human mind was ever meant to handle so much information coming from so many places all at once. It’s no wonder…
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Wake up in the morning, Pour a cup of coffee, Sip it while you calculate The price of your eggs. Return to office mandate, An 8-to-5 in corporate, Got to grin and bear it, You’ve got bills to pay. Work hard, show some muscle. Pick up a side-hustle. No rest for the wicked. No use…
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I’m sitting on my porch for the first time in months. The weather is unseasonably warm for February. Instead of snow, the gray clouds threaten rain. Perhaps I should be worried about this sign of climate change, but the moment, I am relieved by this short break from winter. After 2 weeks of continual bad…
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History doesn’t repeat But it does rhyme. What’s happened before Will echo in time. If you don’t study history You may fail to take Important lessons away from the past’s mistakes. But I don’t need to know history To see, the familiar road where this path leads Into another great tragedy.
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When did humanity become so inhumane? Archaeologist Margaret Mead once famously said “The first sign of civilization is a healed femur”. In a time agriculture, when humans survived by hunting and gathering in a nomadic lifestyle, a broken leg would be a death sentence to someone trying to survive on their own. Someone with a…
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No savior No messiah No king of mine. No praising No praying No bowing to thine. I cannot, I should not, I will not resign My humanity for his glory. Your god-king is not my lord.
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If I were a season I’d be winter. Not just because I was born in December, and not because physical appearance can only be described as “snowy”. It’s not anything so obvious and concrete. The connection is more of a feeling beyond reason. I don’t know if I can say that winter is my favorite…
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The sunrise looked like a landscape. My windowshield, its frame. The white mountains a masterpiece Under the sky’s orange flame. The sunrise looked like a landscape. Each moment a new image unfolds. With fields of frost sparkling silver In the dawn’s sunlight of gold. The sunrise looked like a landscape, Painted by a master’s hand. …
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My great-great Grandmother lived to be 103. She was a remarkable and resilient woman who taught school in a one-room school house until she went blind at the age of 40. She raised her children mostly on her own, and she lived independently into her 90s when she put herself in a care home. The…
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Between midnight and dawn, When the 13th hour strikes, Before the hourglass turns, When the calendar sits empty, Before the old year has gone, Time loses its meaning.
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Bringing Mae Flowers 