Through the blinds I used to see a tall Norwegian maple with leaves the color of tanned leather bigger than my outspread hand. It had a scar along the trunk, a long vertical burn where lightning struck one afternoon without rain or storm.   We…

  This basement window Allows a glint of light Through its high narrow strip of muddied glass. It’s well before dawn now I can smell a skunk sauntering past the yard Which is why my hound has been, well Hounding while I wrote all night…

This well-traveled road, I’ve traversed many a day. It leads me to the nuns to whom I bare my soul.     Highway nine-forty-five, is a simple, country road. Who knows the power, of this precious path?     I do. God does. And now…

The green fields I see out the window always remind me of earlier travels It doesn’t matter that I have not seen them before I think the color is enough to spark the memory Farmlands punctuated by electrical towers always let me know where I…

rain drops falling onto the glass sliding downards slowly and fast catching up with the others forming patterns and lines a race to reach the bottom of the window and still you say there is nothing to watch