The Parable of the Thistles
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Once upon a time, a young mother was appalled by the state of her flowerbeds. They had not been well taken care of before she and her husband moved into the house, and shortly after the couple moved in, a baby joined their little family. The baby was colicky, and it was nearly winter before the young mother was able to work on any sort of project. Ohio offered up some very temperamental weather the following spring – complete with snow on Mother’s Day – so it was the end of May before the young mother ventured out to weed. The thistles were, by this time, fully entrenched and ready to do bloody battle….
Death of Dreams (or: The Simplicity of the Holy)
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“And swift came to my sight
All that I’d lost; a bitter grief to twine
Each deed or love I’d ventured, and to bare
My dreams, long buried, vaulted, and forgot.
I knelt once more by that pale light, to mourn
My young heart’s fire…”Hermann Miller – “The Shrine”
Life is dull without literature, so I recently signed up to receive a weekly poem from The Curator. (You can sign up here.) The poem excerpted (yes, that is a word, I looked it up) above came in such an email and hit me square between the eyes….
