As a leaf uncurled,
a tiny tendril unfurled
warmed from ‘neath frozen tundra gray;
as from sleep she softly wakens
knowing him only
she is gently taken by
the touch of his heart, his mind, his voice.

Etchings sparse on muted linens
swirled to yellows, pinks, and greens
fusing then to luminous orange, bright and lyrical, fresh, serene.
So ’merges she from her chamber softly,
livened to lilt, to warm, to charm.

There once lying
so quietly waiting,
loveliness that was hers to own,
so quiescent, once O’ so stolid, it may be said so much like stone;
there she lay forever sleeping
so untouched, unfelt, unknown. Read more ....

Hunting, panting, searing, consuming,
the lingering silence echoes into a dark and endless eternity.
A ravenous velociraptor is Loneliness.
Rage has slain his thousands,
but Loneliness her ten thousands.

Often a young woman will confide in an older, usually married woman that she feels a desire for a companion. Life is a struggle alone. The conversation may then go something like this, “Well my dear, I once knew a missionary lady who was very content to give Bible studies and work for the Lord. She seemed very happy. The Lord was enough for her.” (1) With that statement, the conversation usually ends. Having been the recipient of such advice, I must that say I left feeling guilty and quite ashamed for feeling lonely. I wondered if perhaps this condemnation might be justified. Maybe I am just not spiritual enough, or not praying enough, or something is just not enough. There must be something wrong with me. This counsel certainly cannot be refuted or even challenged without severe disturbances to the psyche. Surely, God is enough, isn’t He? Read more ....