The mind of winter

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B r a i n   F r e e z e

Allegheny Cemetery

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

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One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and the boughs

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time

To behold the junipers shagged with ice,

The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think

Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land

Full of the same wind

That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,

And, nothing himself, beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

> Wallace Stevens <

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Happy Wednesday

Time will come good

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T h a t ' s   t h e   S p i r i t

Christmas 2021

Columbia, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

This is the time to be slow

Lie low to the wall

Until the bitter weather passes

Try, as best you can, not to let

The wire brush of doubt

Scrape from your heart

All sense of yourself

And your hesitant light.

If you remain generous,

Time will come good;

And you will find your feet

Again on fresh pastures of promise,

Where air will be kind

And blushed with beginning.

> John O'Donohue <

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Happy Monday

How great the jubilation

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Y e a r s   o f   Y e a r n i n g

Allegheny Cemetery

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

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I cannot tell why He whom angels worship

Should set His love upon the sons of men

Or why as Shepherd He should seek the wand'rers

To bring them back, they know not how or when.

But this I know, that He was born of Mary

When Bethl'hem's manger was His only home

And that He lived at Nazareth and labored

And so the Saviour, Saviour of the world is come.

I cannot tell how silently He suffered

As with His peace He graced this place of tears

Or how His heart upon the cross was broken

The crown of pain to three and thirty years.

But this I know, He heals the brokenhearted

And stays our sin and calms our lurking fear

And lifts the burden from the heavy laden

For still the Saviour, Saviour of the world is here.

I cannot tell how He will win the nations

How He will claim His earthly heritage

How satisfy the needs and aspirations

Of East and West, of sinner and of sage.

But this I know, all flesh shall see His glory

And He shall reap the harvest He has sown

And some glad day His sun will shine in splendour

When He the Saviour, Saviour of the world is known.

I cannot tell how all the lands shall worship

When at His bidding every storm is stilled

Or who can say how great the jubilation

When every heart with love and joy is filled.

But this I know, the skies will thrill with rapture

And myriad, myriad human voices sing

And earth to heav'n, and heav'n to earth will answer

'At last the Saviour, Saviour of the world is King!'

> William Y. Fullerton <

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Who being the brightness of his glory, and the express image of his person,

and upholding all things by the word of his power, when he had

by himself purged our sins, sat down on the right hand of the Majesty on high:

Being made so much better than the angels, as he hath by inheritance

obtained a more excellent name than they.

Hebrews 1:3-4

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Happy Sunday

Heaven cannot hold him

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B o w   B e f o r e   H i m

Home For Christmas

Columbia, South Carolina

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In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty
Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a Wise Man
I would do my part, -–
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.

> Christina Rossetti <

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Happy Christmas Eve

Be ignited or be gone

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B l u e   C h r i s t m a s

Page Avenue

Asheville, North Carolina

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Meditation is old and honorable, so why should I
not sit, every morning of my life, on the hillside,
looking into the shining world? Because, properly
attended to, delight, as well as havoc, is suggestion.
Can one be passionate about the just, the
ideal, the sublime, and the holy, and yet commit
to no labor in its cause? I don’t think so.

All summations have a beginning, all effect has a
story, all kindness begins with the sown seed.
Thought buds toward radiance. The gospel of
light is the crossroads of -- indolence, or action.

Be ignited, or be gone.

> Mary Oliver <

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Happy Thursday

Go nowhere

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C o l d   F e e t

Allegheny Cemetery

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

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Then all the dead opened their cold palms

and released the snow; slow, slant, silent,

a huge unsaying, it fell, torn language; settled,

the world to be locked, local; unseen,

fervent earthbound bees around a queen.

The river grimaced and was ice.

Go nowhere --

thought the dead, using the snow --

but where you are, offering the flower of your breath

to the white garden, or seeds to the birds

from your living hand. You cannot leave.

Tighter and tighter, the beautiful snow

holds the land in its fierce embrace.

It is like death, but it is not death; lovelier.

Cold, inconvenienced, late, what will you do now

with the gift of your left life?

> Carol Ann Duffy <

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Happy Wednesday

Drink your fill of light

>>>>++<<<<

L i g h t   T r e s p a s s e s

Alleyway

Savannah, Georgia

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WINTER SOLSTICE

Passage Grave at Newgrange

The chamber's heart is thrown a line of light

Once in the year. Out of the darkest days,

Astronomy, arithmetic effect this brightness

Miracle, turning light to blaze,

Grey tomb to womb where a new year is kindled.

Heart, drink your fill of light: the darkness dwindles.

> Catherine Ann Cullen <

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Happy Monday :: Happy Christmas Week

Truth will stand

>>>>++<<<<

N o   S t r a n g e r   t o   t h e   M a n g e r

Main Street Creche

North, South Carolina

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In search of a child they traveled so far
Led by a star to a place of joy
Now the wise men tell a beautiful story
Describing the glory of a baby boy.

Hope has hands, freedom has feet
Truth will stand, the Word will speak
The holy and lowly will finally embrace
For love has a heartbeat

And grace has a face.

Compassion has a tear, joy has a laughter
And here ever after, peace has a smile
Redemption's blood has veins to flow in
A temple to glow in

Light is a child.

Hope has hands, freedom has feet
Truth will stand, the Word will speak
The holy and lowly will finally embrace
For love has a heartbeat

And grace has a face.

> Phil Cross <

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Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift.

I Corinthians 9:15

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Sunday

He will come, will come

>>>>++<<<<

L e t   U s   A d o r e   H i m

Church Display

Lexington, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

He will come like last leaf’s fall.
One night when the November wind
has flayed the trees to bone, and earth
wakes choking on the mould,
the soft shroud’s folding.
He will come like frost.
One morning when the shrinking earth
opens on mist, to find itself
arrested in the net
of alien, sword-set beauty.
He will come like dark.
One evening when the bursting red
December sun draws up the sheet
and penny-masks its eye to yield
the star-snowed fields of sky.
He will come, will come,
will come like crying in the night,
like blood, like breaking,
as the earth writhes to toss him free.
He will come like child.

> Rowan Williams <

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Happy Saturday

What I had to give

>>>>++<<<<

T h e   R e d   a n d   T h e   G r e e n

Christmastime 2016

Columbia, South Carolina

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One river gives

its journey to the next.

We give because someone gave to us.

We give because nobody gave to us.

We give because giving has changed us.

We give because giving could have changed us.

We have been better for it,

We have been wounded by it --

Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet,

Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails.

Its story is old, the plot worn and the pages too,

But we read this book, anyway, over and over again:

Giving is, first and every time, hand to hand,

Mine to yours, yours to mine.

You gave me blue and I gave you yellow.

Together we are simple green. You gave me

What you did not have, and I gave you

What I had to give -- together, we made

Something greater from the difference.

> Alberto Rios <

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Happy Friday