I need a moment.


I need a moment.

I need a God come down and smack me sideways, leaving me to catch breath, moment.

I need a moment.

The days are long, the winter longer, and the darkness, well, I need a moment.

A moment of light. A moment of encouragement. A moment of hope. A moment of end of the tunnel grace.

I need a moment.

I’m wrapped and wound tight spun tense and somebody, God, please, somebody, show me another way. Wake me up to Truth or the first praise-filled chirp of the day or moonlight full glow through the weight of this night.

I need a moment.

God, please, I need a moment.

Before the depth of this stone lump pulls me heavy through the cold wet and leaves me gasping without air.

I need a moment.

Just one moment.


Tall sister

Tall sister sprints pink across the crunch-leaf grass, no emergency of tears across her cheeks but surely something important demands her legs to spin that fast.

I brace myself for something four-year-old tragic requiring a jolt of attention and superhero action from this momma.

Tall sister hip pops the door, announcing her entrance.

My eyebrows wake-up, “What is it?”

“Mommy, mommy! I can touch my nose with my tongue!”

Relief deflates my chest, thankful that this time only life discovery brings her sprinting. I crane my neck, my eyebrows still do the talking, “Show me.”

And with dirt under jagged chipped polished fingernails she takes her young hand to her tongue, pushing it belly up toward the button of her nose, proud as proud can be that indeed, she can touch her nose with her tongue.

At that I give my eyebrows a break, momma pride beam my cheeks wide, “Awesome!”

Tall sister swings the door closed, legs already half sprinting back toward her friends, and I hear the delight filled glory of her voice as the now shut door muffles the words that my heart never stops dreaming, “Love ya!”

A winter's one-sided brawl.

Though sun stops beating, my pulse does not. Air turned steam from my breath taunts Autumn mums that some of us will survive this season.

And some of us will not.

Bitter cold sears my soul and I should probably feel sorry for the dead family of once-golden petals,

but I don't.

I laugh remembering why I bought them, their color burst first to greet passerby, and last to bid farewell.

And now the freeze caught them squatting, forever stuck fat and happy except, well, it's peculiar really, their smiles must have thawed.

I only yank them from their misery because their rigor mortis corpses stare ugly. Shallow energy exerted masks my vanity with compassion. I simply don't want to look at them anymore.

But it's they who have the last laugh. They aren't the only ones dead frozen. Their roots stick solid to the once life-giving soil that now sits heavy in frigid clay pot.

And now the only ugly to greet passerby is my steaming and huffing and tugging, the crazy lady having a knock-down drag-out with some pathetic dead plants who refuse to leave their post.