Sometimes fog can swallow time
Flying in circles while waiting
To see the land
The mountain can become a monster
Time fades, the land disappears
The plane loses its bearing
Wandering in the mist
We always wonder about the weather
We are surprised about the answers
Sadness comes unexpectedly.
note: Faith, our granddaughter, and her basketball team, won the championship game in the March basketball tournament today. They are CHAMPIONS. Her father, our son, died suddenly last Monday morning.
I am deeply saddened and devastated by the deaths of 3 health workers and an army veteran at the Pathway Home, Veterans Home of California, in Yountville, north of Napa, California, yesterday. Christine Loeber, Executive Director of the Pathway Home, one of the health workers killed, was our guest speaker in the North Napa Rotary Club’s meeting, on February 27.
photo: Christine Loeber
by Christina Rossetti
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
A conference, ideas arranged and tossed around
communion of forms and engagements
patterns new and freshly conceived
full of promise
but the night turned dark
centripetal force veered outside its bearing
a car careened over the barriers
a young star fell from the sky
lying shattered on the highway
the moon wept silently
carrying our voices.
ever since Einstein theorized
speed of light is finite
we’re chasing speed
remote, touch screen, instagram
life is summation of the seasons
life is a season
life is a moment
death is the beginning
or the end
life is death
death is life
we try to know the difference
some don’t reach
I have broken the song into pieces
and want to make it whole again
but the sun is setting
carrying colors of summer,
rhythm and lyrics,
chorus and synthesis,
my singular longing.
Should I be afraid
for the light after the veil?
What will it be like
to meet the Lord?
art creates, monks ponder
one of life’s many expressions