Pumpkin in the Buff

     Most of my blogspace is crammed with words, but now and then, I choose to record my Song of the Lark moments. Those instants when the soul stands stripped of swag before the simple beauty of creation. 

     This is one of those.

The Photosynthesis of Scones

     The leaves on my little pot of indoor mums were turning yellow, so I took them outside this morning for a cupful of photosynthesis. The sun laid its arm across my shoulders, friendlywise, persuading me to linger awhile and share a cup of warm as well.

     Perhaps it was that second swig of cordial, but when I went inside, drunk with blue sky, bright leaves and the cider-snap of cold in the air, my usual whole grain toast for breakfast had lost its appeal. A little intemperate photosynthesis for this potted mum was needful.

     So I made scones: weightless white flour, insubstantial sugar, pure butter baked into bites and dolloped with cream whipped into light-footed clouds, and the glad-hearted cheer of cherry jam.

     What a pleasant way to convert light into energy.

Men Shout

Christ's Entry into Brussels in 1889
by
James Ensor

Men Shout

Men shout

People turn their feet to listen

And truth is trampled in the rush to judgement.

A man shouts:

Fire!

And there, beneath the wall of stone

With blindfold askew

Justice is executed.

                                                                  ~ Nib of Nib's End ~

     This poem is a result of my frustration with what I hear in the news. And whatever the artist's intent may have been, his painting reflects my view of the State of our Union.

     I, to say the least, am unhappy with my choices for the upcoming election. But I am not blaming the candidates; I believe they both represent a symptom of a much deeper problem...a problem that cannot be fixed by any political decision. So, despite my frustration, I am at peace. My hope is not in a candidate. My faith has never been in Democracy. I have put my confidence in a King of kings whose government is secure and whose reign is eternal despite how the mob may choose to represent it. 

Psalm 2

The Passenger's Photo Album - Sulawesi

Hardboiled eggs for lunch in Sulewesi.