In homes where wealth
Is relabeled need,
And we think no one knows
We’ve simply redefined greed;
Our hearts grow colder,
Our hands serve slower,
And the songs of freedom are forgotten
By the descendents of those
Who built bonfires to light their way
In the new and unknown world.
That part of my parent’s marriage, the part where they made promises to God as well as each other, was the foundation, glue, and strength that united our family together. No matter where each of us has been, is going, believes or rejects, the covenant that tied mom and dad to each other and a divinity that reached beyond their own capacities, also tied my siblings and I to one another. That bond continues to this day, though mom and dad have both been gone for over 5 years. How grateful I am for their choice, and for their efforts to be true to it always.
“We gather these ghosts and scatter them through the house, October remembrances of a hopeful May, and settle in again to the season of stories.”
“I love the early September leaves, dry at the tip, just beginning to brown and curl as the apples and pears bend the branches down and make it easier for small hands to grasp the treasure the leaves have been holding.”
“The middle of nowhere,” I say,
“And the center of everything.”
The place I’m always heading,
No matter how far I go.
This is a short blog about high hopes. A story of education, agriculture, and how small increments of generosity can yield tremendous harvests in the lives of impoverished families a world away.
“I wish all eulogies could be so wonderfully real. We’re born in the honesty of physical nakedness, I wish we could all die in emotional nakedness, with forgiveness following us on our journeys.”
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