“Staying in between the lines”

Now and then it keeps you running
It never seems to die
The trial’s spent with fear
Not enough living on the outside
Never seem to get far enough
Staying in between the lines
Hold on what you can
Waiting for the end not knowing when


Backyard crocuses, 2013

Yesterday marked the last day of the darkest 6 weeks of the year in these parts.

Tomorrow will bring us back to November light.

And Imbolc is just 3 weeks away.

Under the frozen earth the crocuses next to the old bare maple tree are starting to stir. Chromosomes are replicating, cells dividing, tough spears forming, getting ready to pierce their way to the sunlight.

Not sure they know why they go through all the fuss, not likely a question they they ask, pretty sure the answer wouldn’t matter to them anyway.

But they at least know where they’re going.

Even if we could decipher the language of plants, we could not grasp their answer to such a question.

It won’t involve money or fame or power or self-esteem.

The point may seem without value in a culture that does not value living.



Hard to commodify the thoughts of a flower.

New Year’s Day

Closest thing I come to resolutions these days.

I watched the sun as it set yesterday.
I watched the sun as it rose again this morning.
I don’t do this often enough, few of us do.

Just a few minutes after the sun broke through this morning, a twitchy squirrel sat on top of a fence post, still, facing the sun, then resumed his twitchiness.

A vulture flew within 20 feet of me, its under-feathers reflecting the sunlight as it banked.

I just watched.

It would have happened anyway.
And it’s happening anyway.

And it will keep on happening….

A Christmas story

FILE–Five-month-old AIDS sufferer Kgomotso Mahlangu, lays in a hospital bed in the Kalafong township near Pretoria, South Africa, Oct. 26 1999. The AIDS epidemic is so overwhelming South Africa that some public hospitals are turning people away, limiting treatment and forcing doctors to make hard decisions on whom to save. (AP Photo/Themba Hadebe)

The saddest patient I ever had was dying of AIDS, before we knew what was going on. Her family was afraid of her, and much of the staff.

Truth be told, I was a little bit scared, too, but was so deep into a ward full of children dying back in the early 90s that I figured if it was that contagious, I was doomed as well.

So I spent a lot of time with her.

And I did a lot of things to her that hurt her anyway.

And now as I slowly descend the same arc she traveled too quickly, as we all are traveling, I think of her.

Her name was Daphne.

I can blather on about how I learned from her, how she was heroic, how what we learned from her helped us help other children later.

But that’s all noise.

The Christmas story is a powerful one, and part of its power is the juxtaposition of a baby and a fate we know too well.

I am not sure what the point to this story is–maybe there is no point.

But I know this much–what we do not do matters as much as what we do.