Recent days have been accompanied
by a weariness of soul,
a heaviness of spirit,
the result I am sure
of a barrage of bad news
that include
close friends losing sisters
amidst all that is the ongoing pandemic.

The bouts are lifted
by communion with God,
a beloved sibling,
and dear friends,
but return.

I stepped into the backyard
to water the plants
and was once again
gifted by beauty close at hand.
I am convinced,
from my heavenly Father
that He sees
and knows
and cares.


There were some roses
that could not withstand
the raindrops fired by the storm
and lost all their petals.
But some did,
and comprised the remnant
that greeted the sun when it returned.
(c) E.W. Wright

context for a moment

You can see the sky in the photo above

but that is not all there was.

Birds flew across my walking path.

There was the train’s whistle and the rumble of the wheels of the carriages being pulled on the tracks.

There was the intermittent hum of traffic, the cadence of my footsteps, and a refreshing breeze.

There is always more to a moment than what you see.


Some mornings
The Artist uses the sun with bold brushstrokes,
painting the canvas that is sky
with bold colors –
fuschia, orange, bright yellows.

Other mornings,
His brushstrokes seem tender, gentle,
and the sky is covered in soft pinks,
and baby blues, and creamy yellows.

And in our lives,
The Artist is at work,
even using “colors”
(our experiences, events, choices)
that were not part of His original design,
to paint something beautiful.


Driving by in my car
Waiting at a traffic light
Sitting in slow moving traffic
I have watched them

Those whose movements are a thing of beauty
Long, even strides
Body upright
Limbs loose
I have watched and smiled, even nodded in admiration

Others seem clumsy
Limbs uncoordinated
As if seconds away from tripping over their own feet
Chests heaving
I have watched and smiled, amused

But both groups are runners
And I, sitting in my car
Am a spectator
Not a runner

E. Wright © September, 2015