Fire warms my cheeks to pink in this beloved world: a sink-into-able leather sofa and within my reach African red tea steaming silently from a wide-mouthed porcelain mug. Strangers become friends by shared experience. Absorbed by George Muller's biography, his story comforting and challenging, while a hundred years later coffeehouse satellite radio makes me trendy just by the listening.
The sky darkens outside and intimacy glows brighter as I await the arrival of a close friend. Frequent glances toward the door. My thoughtful meditations on the words of an inspiring man slip to darker corners of my consciousness and solitary moments stretch with anticipation. I am eager for shared time and quiet conversation.
All this for a dollar and some change. I moan about the extortionary price of tea but money can't buy the beauty of this moment.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
FORGOTTEN LANGUAGE
Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers....
How did it go?
How did it go?
----and----
MY BEARD
My beard grows to my toes,
I never wears no clothes,
I wraps my hair
Around my bare,
and down the road I goes.
Post a Comment