Magnetic

Butterfly bush
outside my window
hummingbird magnet
dishes left unwashed.



Notice he is swallowing a drop of nectar
 

Chicken Talk

     Sometimes, God gives me a photo, totally unexpectedly, that speaks to me. I thought I'd share it. Perhaps it will speak to you.

With hustle and bustle this wise banty hen
Keeps her brood in tow
Teaching them lessons they need to know
To thrive in a chicken world
Under and around her feet all day
They watch her every move
Listening for her gentle clucks
As she shows them all the doings
a proper chicken does.
When the sun begins to fade
and evening takes its place
Mrs. Hen gathers her flock
And coaxes them to roost
in safety under her wings
Far above the enemies that creep
steal and destroy in the night

As dawn begins to waken the earth
A raucous "cut, cut, cut, ca-dacket"
bounces me from my bed
Whatever is this racket?!
Two little peeps have gone astray
Are roosting near the ground
Wonder what they heard their Mama say?
"You kids come up here right now!
You'll get yourselves killed down there
That's why I want you here with me
Now come here!"
With squeaky peeps her wayward chicks
fly toward the sound of her voice
With her brood intact in the full morning light
Mama leads the way to the henhouse suite
A place of safety from enemies that fly
steal and destroy in the day.

      "Behold, I have loved you with an everlasting love......He will cover you with His feathers...Under His wings I am safely abiding........He has seated us with Him in heavenly places, far above all principalities, powers, might and dominion......Jesus said, "I do nothing on my own. I only do what I see My Father doing for whatever He does the Son does likewise.....It is written in the prophets, they shall all be taught of God.....He that believes on Me, the works that I do shall he do also and greater works....."  from Jeremiah 31:3, Psalm 91, Ephesians 1 and 2, John 5:19, 30, John 6;45, John 8:28
John 14:12    What better way to learn than to sit at His feet as Mary did to know Him and to know the Father.

Awaiting

Spring blew open winter's door
Snatched the snowy blanket from his bed
Released the rivers from their icy cells

Danced her way through trees
as she whistled for the birds
to call them from the south
"Tis futile to resist," she laughed
and calmly knelt to whisper
to the likes of bluebell
and spring beauty
coaxing them awake
Aroused by her embrace
the peepers in the marsh
welcomed her with fervent songs

She skipped across my lawn
leaving kaboodles of yellow dandys
standing at attention
.....but I don't care
Spring is finally here!


 

 

This year I so yearned for spring to arrive! It reminds me there are other things awaiting. "For the whole creation eagerly waits with anticipation for the sons of God to be revealed."
Romans 8:19  

These also wait in hope:

                

Maggie

Maggie's fingers curled more tightly around the steering wheel as her car bumped along the dirt road.
    "What a stupid pilgrimage this is!" she complained aloud, though there was no one to hear. She felt as if some giant unseen hand was dragging her to her birthplace, the place to which she vowed she would never return. She braked sharply as a turkey hen with a brood of 12 meandered across the road ahead of her, the mother yelping loudly to keep them all in tow. It made her think of her own mother, gone 10 years already.
     "Do you ever stop missing your Mom?" Maggie wondered. Subconsciously she rubbed her cheek as she remembered her mother's tears the day Maggie left home. Not that she wanted to leave.
     "Why must I go back? It's over and done now." But that unseen force wasn't leaving her alone. It kept tugging at her heart. The car bounced over a pothole as she put the car in gear again and left the turkey family far behind, clucking and purring in the pines. She almost missed the driveway, it was so overgrown with weeds. Unwilling to park along the road, she clattered over the weeds and stopped the car several yards from the house.
     "Well, isn't that appropriate?" Maggie muttered as she stared at the boarded up windows of the abandoned house, shuttered as if to hide even the memory of her existence. The vulture roosting on the chimney seemed to taunt her with her father's last words to her. "Get out! You're 18 years old now. Get out of my house and don't come back!"
     She had thrown some clothes in her suitcase and fled to who knew where, vowing she would never allow him to hurt her again. She looked at the vulture so she wouldn't have to see her mother's sad eyes.
     "If you're so smart, Mr. Vulture, tell me why. What did I ever do to deserve what he did to me?" But there was no answer and now there never would be.
     Tall grass, weeds and brush covered the ground.
     "Looks like good snake habitat and if there's a snake in here, I will scream bloody murder!" She almost chuckled, remembering the time she had picked one up by the tail thinking it was a stick. Warily, Maggie explored the backyard, wondering why she was compelled to be there.Abruptly, in mid-step, she stopped, rubbed her eyes and looked again. Among the overgrown shrubs, she had caught a glimpse of a bright, coral colored flower.
     "The Tropicana rose," her murmur was barely a whisper and again she heard her father's voice. This time it was tender.
     "Happy thirteenth birthday, my little pearl. See this? It's a Tropicana rose planted especially for you because I love you so much. Every time you see it, remember I will always love you."
     Anger welled up and spilled from her eye. She slapped away the tear.
     "Daddy, you said you'd always love me but you didn't. Why did you stop? What did I do to make you hate me? You never told me. If you had I could have said I'm sorry but you never did. Why, Daddy, why? You never told me and now I'll never know because you're dead! Dead, dead, dead."
     Maggie sank among the weeds and the tears of pain and anger that she'd held inside for years, all tumbled out at once. Even the old house seemed to shake with her sobs. After the last tear had run down and melted into the dirt, she lay still for a long time. In the bottom of her purse, she found a pair of scissors and with them she gently snipped a long-stemmed Tropicana rose. As if by design, she found an old bottle nearby that she filled with water from the creek in which she and Daddy had played. With one last look at her old abandoned home, she took the rose, put the car in drive and never looked back.
     Two weeks later the lawyer called to request her presence at the reading of the will.
     "But he cut me out of the will," Maggie said. "Is it necessary for me to be there?" The lawyer assured her it was. It was a simple will.
       "Being of sound mind, finally, and feeble body, upon my death all my assets are to be divided equally between my two daughters except for the Tropicana rose. It belongs to my daughter Maggie.I hope she can forgive a stubborn old fool."

Harmony

A summer afternoon
An inviting farm pond
And a boy with a fishin' pole
Were made to be together.

Ode to the Lady Slipper

Fair lady slipper, comely woodland queen
Perfection marks your beauty, rarely seen
By man who crams his life with work to the brink
But some will search to see your winsome face
What joy to find the object of their quest
Attired in frocks with stripes of pink on pink
That glisten in the morning sun that peeks
Into your hiding place beneath the trees
A call to dance comes from a gentle breeze
You smile and nod and join with graceful ease

Perhaps some fairy princess stopped to play
Or practice for her debutante ballet
You first enchanted me when I was young
With ribbons soft you wrapped me round and then
In wordless song my captured heart was won
As you declared the glory due the One
Who fashioned you with careful hand and love
May I with grace display the Lord above
And like the lady slipper rest from strain
Abolish worry and enjoy His reign.

 

Consider the lilies of the field, learn thoroughly how they grow; they neither toil nor spin;
yet I tell you, Solomon in all his magnificence was not arrayed like one of these.
Matt. 6:28,29 

Retta

Some said she was a witch,
this mountain woman
who lived in a two-room house
with newspapered walls
Easy enough for a kid to believe
for loud conversations
drifted from her house on the hill
to the road below,
Signaled her coming
as she traveled on foot
everywhere she went,
Announced her presence when
she rested by the side of the road
She was always on speaking terms
with herself.

As I tiptoed past her house to school
a familiar voice filled me with dread
she was on the road ahead
and throwing rocks
My legs refused to move
"Look out, it's a snake!
But don't be skeert, I killt him."
My legs unthawed as I thanked her
for killing the snake, "instead of me",
I added to myself
If she had been packing the pistol
she called her peace maker,
I may have 'fainted dead away'

But Retta was not a person to be feared
The door of her tiny house
was always open to friends
With a cheerful grin as wide as her face
she'd invite them to stay and "set a spell"
"No need to rush off," she'd say as they left,
"You fellers come back real soon."
She asked for nothing but respect
It pleased her to provide a meal 

of scrambled eggs and tomatoes 

to the boys who cut her firewood

It was the best she had to offer

A dip of snuff tucked in her cheek
She wore an apron to wipe her mouth
if ever the snuff should leak.
With deadly aim she'd spit a stream of snuff
through the open door of her pot-bellied stove
and not miss a word of the tale she told

Sundays found her without the snuff
dressed in her Sunday best
on the second pew from the front
singing the songs she knew
with a hymnal opened at random

Eccentric, shy, opinionated,
with a quirky sense of humor,
whatever else she was,
a hypocrite she was not
With simple, childlike faith
and trust in God, she lived
as loyally as she knew how 

So here's to you, Retta
Faithful in little, faithful in much,
I look forward to "setting a spell"
with you, my friend
in the home prepared for you
by your Beloved.