The Grapefruit {a poem inspired by The Supper of the Lamb}

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  The heavens are full of ruby-hued jewels, alive with the ridged wrinkles of glistening garnets, awash in the juices of fruitful glory. Ah, the delectable flesh of this sky! Round the center seeds small and smaller wink like stars in a carnelian firmament, the center...

Some Private Spot

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This gem, from A.W. Tozer, is my 11th commandment. This is the rule by which I want to live in this season of becoming reacquainted with the quiet, contemplative part of myself: Retire from the world each day to some private spot, even if it be only the bedroom (for a...

Enough

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The spirea branches that brush the window still bear red and yellow leaves. Beyond them, the fig tree is bare, its yellowing leaves ripped from its branches by Saturday’s windstorm. A few forlorn figs hang in the gray mizzle of morning, dripping rain. Soon, they, too,...

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