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Continue reading →: Moisture
Rain punctuated the gravel road like a thousand snubbed sentences. Short statements blended into applause over arid stones. The natural sound jumped beneath me and soul soaked thanks giving leapt and wept.
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Continue reading →: Low Grade Depression
Jesus’ hand pressed on my chest. I woke and made eye contact. Sweat saturated my neck and shoulders. He performed CPR. The breath of life at all angles. “Listen, are you listening?” I nodded. “You aren’t dying. Your heart is strong. This deep press on your heart…
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Continue reading →: Casting Colored Shadows
I found them in the street on hands and knees among strewn colored chalk. Children chattering on about keeping the shadows filled in with the scrapings. The spindled silhouettes of barren trees crawled slowly over the asphalt and the artists tried to stay within the lines. Thin…
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Continue reading →: Monday. Back at it. Sit up and take notice.
Ten. I tucked my feet under the couch. Sit-ups. Just like grade school when Roger Meints held my feet. Ten on Monday. The same strained face with added aged spots. Fifteen on Friday. I sat up and looked around and had this…
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Continue reading →: Don’t Just Stand There, Do Something (A response to Don’t Just Do Something, Stand There)
Go to the ant and consider. Wear matching socks. Create a floss event. Move. Run Forrest, run! Read some e-mails, and respond to one. X-it the marked spot and lace up your shoes. Tell your ego you are tall enough. Think and walk simultaneously. Moss doesn’t grow on a…
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Continue reading →: Don’t Just Do Something, Stand ThereStare at the ants like a slug. Stop matching socks. Don’t even intend to floss, eventually. Don’t move. Stand perfectly still like a pillar of salt. Mark all e-mails as read and stand. Set both feet over the X marked spot. Leave the shoe untied. Allow your…
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Continue reading →: untitled post 1703
Originally posted on Gerald the Writer: She dozed off in a Stryker bed. Her head tilted and cricked. She mumbled and snored a bit. It was an afternoon nap and we just were. Might I stay until bedtime to tuck her in and say a prayer? I’ll leave…
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Continue reading →: Field Notes
In the field among varied grasses she waltzed with her palms brushing the buds bowed in prayer. The late summer wild flowers dipped in heated color. Indian paint brushes dabbed the sky on the edges of towering cumulus. She lay down in embroidery. They neither toiled nor spun…
Gerald the Writer 