Gratitude Overflowing...

This morning as I sleepily rub eyes and blink to concentrate scattered thoughts, planning to recover inchingly from graduation and birthday celebrations (anniversary celebrations start tomorrow), I find myself overflowing with thankfulness. And what better way to celebrate the goodness of God than with additions to the Gratitude Community at Ann Voskamp's wonderful Holy Experience? So on I travel, on the road to 1000 Gifts of a gracious and loving Father of Lights:

So on this drowsing morning, I give thanks for...

181. ...the beauty of Elizabeth's high school graduation, seeing her lovely face smiling at us while she gave her speech, her glow as she stepped down the aisle to "Pomp and Circumstance," her tear-filled eyes as she presented me with a yellow rose in thanks for twelve years of home education.

182. ...the love of family and friends who gathered to celebrate with us at her graduation, several of which who don't usually approach churches, stating that they very much enjoyed the graduation, that is was unlike any other (and it was!).

183. ...the pleasure of seeing other students of mine besides my daughter graduate, most giving speeches, one thanking me in his speech (thanks, Cam!)--students whose essays I've marked, whom I've taught about writing and infused with an appreciation of, if not a passion for, writing and literature--I hope!

184. ...observing through loving mother's eyes the beautiful young woman our daughter has become, so sure of herself (at least outwardly), so enthused about college and her future in God's grace.

185. ...celebrating our son J's 13th birthday also this weekend. He has now passed me in height and will soon pass Keith--a man-child who insists, several times a day, on "needing to hug my mommy." On his birthday he requested Monte Cristo sandwiches for breakfast--one of Keith's specialities, and to spend the afternoon with his dad seeing Iron Man II. He's having a friend spend a couple of days with us, and another friend over today for pizza, cake, video games, and war games in the yard with his new BB gun.

186. ...celebrating my and Keith's 25th wedding anniversary tomorrow. We plan to drop kids with my parents and attend the county fair tomorrow, then enjoy dinner at a Del Mar restaurant. We're also hoping for a weekend away sometime this summer, depending on finances.

187. ...the goodness of God in working out details of graduation and birthday celebrations, of blessing us and our family so wonderfully. He breathes His grace upon us, into us, and we can't help but love Him and all others in response.

188. ...seeing my mom and dad dance a bit at E's graduation Sock Hop yesterday. After my dad's surgery, he is to be recovering, and it was wonderful to see him enjoy himself so much at the Sock Hop; we're so blessed that he's still with us after his double by-pass in late April.

189. ...the blessing of being DONE with our home school year. T has a bit of German to finish, J a bit of math, E & B a bit of reading, but easily accomplished this week, but we've clocked our 180 days and are DONE as soon as I e-mail in our grades to Heritage Christian School.

190. ...the blessing of being DONE with Brave Writer classes for the summer. After teaching four classes in a row with only one week-long break (which was used for class preparations), I need time to rest body and mind, soul and spirit.

191. ...the blessing of being DONE with Class Day teaching at Heritage Christian School's co-op, one of seven co-ops across San Diego County and even in Tijuana. I enjoyed seeing/hearing my high school writing students give oral presentations of their final MLA essays on our last day, and I enjoyed even more seeing/hearing my 4th-6th grade poetry students each give a reading of his/her three favorite original poems. At the suggestion of Guest Poet and dear friend Kathryn Belsey, who truly inspired my little class, I worked with the parents to print an anthology that included each students' three poems; the students and their parents LOVED it!

192. ...the peace of summer break--being able to sleep in, to linger leisurely over my mug of Irish Breakfast tea, the unhurried pace of summer rest, the opportunities opening before me. I may despise the heat of summer, but I love being unencumbered by deadlines and workloads and able to just BE with my family.

All thanks be to God and in His glory,

Second Sunday After Trinity

According to the Christian Calendar, we find ourselves in Ordinary Time. Now, "Ordinary" doesn't just mean "every day," "not special, "not extraordinary"--although it indeed marks an absence of high Holy Days of Advent, Epiphany, Lent, Pentecost, etc. No, "Ordinary" goes back to the idea of counting, of ordinal numbers: first, second, third, etc. In the Anglican tradition, we track each week by how many Sundays since Trinity. In fact, this Sunday marks the "Second Sunday After Trinity."

For a more in-depth article on Ordinary Time, click here: Ordinary Time.

The liturgical color for Ordinary Time is green, symbolizing our ever-growing faith in our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ as He nudges and shapes us (if we allow Him) into His image: into His love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23). So as our faith greens, watered by His Word, cultivated in prayer, nurtured in fellowship with others, we grow into Christ-likeness: a beautiful garden for His glory.

Ten or so years ago, I dreamed about heaven. I dreamt that I was planting beautiful rosebushes with deep scarlet blooms--but these bushes were without thorns. Digging in the garden has always been hard physically for me--even before I became ill--but I dreamt that Jesus was there, helping me. And somehow the soil was easy to lift--light, buoyant. In fact, the entire rose bed where I was planting was completely without weeds. Jesus helped me tuck the rich soil around the roots of the scarlet rosebush, its pointed leaves tickling both our noses as we bent into the rose bed, our hands working together. Another aspect of gardening I hate (in addition to digging and weeds) is the perspiration that runs down my face, stinging my eyes. But we were cool despite the warm sun on our backs.

Heaven was all about working alongside Jesus in ideal growing conditions, creating beauty with Him, partnering with Him in simple joys of growing roses--all the hard stuff gone, only the joy remaining.

And although this vision was only a dream--and I rarely remember dreams at all--it has comforted me somehow, showing that even now I can help Jesus grow things--growing my own faith, growing my marriage in His grace, growing our children for His glory. Yes, we still have hard work, weeds, and the sweat of our labor to contend with, but Jesus comes alongside us, the Master Gardener, planning the design of our landscape according to His vision and always ready to lend a hand whenever we allow Him to.

So that's my idea of these Ordinary Days--a time of rooting out weeds, of digging deep into the cool soil, of wiping the sweat from our brows, of planting, watering, cultivating and growing our faith and the faith of those around us. For this is a Community Garden we live in--not a private garden--and we all need one another; it's an integral part of His Master Plan.

So here's a new quotation for this week, on growing and gardening:

"If seeds in the black earth can turn into such beautiful roses, what might not the heart of man become in its long journey toward the stars?"
--G.K. Chesterton

And the Collect for this week from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer:

O LORD, who never failest to help and govern those whom thou dost bring up in thy stedfast fear and love; Keep us, we beseech thee, under the protection of thy good providence, and make us to have a perpetual fear and love of thy holy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

May the Lord bless you with an ever-growing faith, one that blooms forth grace, hope, peace, and love for all,

Elizabeth's High School Graduation

Friday afternoon I stood nervously in the crowded church, fanning myself with the program. I caught Hannah's eye--one of my honors writing students last year--as she raised her violin to her chin, Peter (another former student and hopefully in my honors class next year) lifting his violin and bow at the same time. In perfect synchronization, the bows shot up then down as the opening bars of "Pomp and Circumstance" rang forth from the Heritage String Ensemble--made up entirely of home-educated students of Heritage Christian School. As the familiar strains filled the church, Hosanna stepped forward into the aisle, stepping in time to the music of the live orchestra. Then we saw her...

...eighth in alphabetical order, her blue gown bringing out the blue of her eyes, her hair over her shoulder, throwing us a nervous smile. Keith stood on the aisle, snapping photos as she proceeded toward the front of the church, her cap at a rakish angle. She passed us, her blue and white tassel bobbing against her cheek.

Following the line of students, she filed into the front row on our side of the church, the graduates lining the rows with the Sounds of Freedom, Heritage Christian School's award-winning choir, behind them, unobtrusive in black. As the final notes faded and the orchestra quietly exited, our principal, Mary York, mother of seven, stepped forward to present the Mothers' Diplomas--diplomas to the mothers who were graduating their youngest students (I only have eight more years to go!). After the commencement address by Scott York, the principal's husband, the students came into the pews, yellow roses in hand to present to their mothers. Elizabeth came down to us, handing a tearful me a rose with a hug, then hugged Keith and my parents before heading further back into the pews to greet and hug my brother, Keith's dad and sister, my parents' best friends Dan and Francie, my mom's cousin Rick, and my dear college friend and the kids' math tutor and second godmother, Johanna.

Very soon after the looooong presentation of diplomas started. With seventy-five students, almost half of which gave 90-second speech. Many of the speech-givers are part of our school's debate team who just competed in the Nationals, and Elizabeth's speech was not out-of-place among them. She was a little nervous, forgetting her favorite line about those who spoke willingly versus those who were forced to give a speech as their parents' graduation requirement. :) But she did a great job! Some of the speeches were funny, some serious, some a mixture, but it was wonderful to hear the speeches and see a few antics here and there--like Justin's punk/pop bandmates rushing the stage to give him flowers. Many of the graduates were former writing students of mine, so I enjoyed hearing their speeches and watching them speak--one even thanked me publicly. Thanks, Cam. :)

After the ceremony, my extended family, not exactly churchgoers, noted how nice the ceremony was. Elizabeth stopped to hug her fellow graduates, many of whom she had started kindergarten with at our twice-monthly Class Days. We chatted with family and friends for a little while, then got in line for dinner which was catered for the school by Pat & Oscars. As we stood in line, we were given appetizers by one of the juniors--who just finished my writing class--and then we were able to look at the seniors' photo boards they had prepared as we waited in the dinner line. Within ten minutes we were sitting down to eat. As soon as we finished the meal, the boys brought us cake, and then Elizabeth was talking with friends, signing their yearbooks while they signed hers.

I love that our homeschool private study program (PSP) is such a wonderful balance of school and homeschooling: yearbooks, senior events, senior formal, a beautiful graduation ceremony with caps and gowns, speeches and a lovely sit-down reception. Class Days provide science labs, writing classes, chess clubs, foreign language and music lessons, and all sorts of classes from preschool to American Government and Economics, film and theatre, PE and cooking. And then the rest of the time, we're at home with our children, accountable via annual testing for grades 4-11 and quarterly progress reports/report cards. The school prepares high school transcripts for seniors and offers outside courses in SAT prep, honors chemistry, plus sports teams--basketball and volleyball for boys and girls right now, and a new drama club that performed its first play--plus a student newspaper. It's a great balance between home and school, family and friends, activity and relaxation.

And we are so thankful for Heritage Christian School and our first homeschooled graduate, our Elizabeth.

The Grace of Fatherhood

(Photo from Scientific American)

This morning I followed a Twitter link to High Calling Blogs' newest Community Writing Project: a vignette/poem on Fatherhood.

So here's mine, based on my second birth, our first son:

The Grace of Fatherhood
Over the delicate skin of our newborn's cheek,
your hand brushes, awed,
the roughness of work-wearied fingers
gentled by the grace of this moment.

You don't speak. You don't have to.
I watch the emotions flow across your face,
one after another, a spring-river of thought:
recognition of your features and mine in this
miniature person birthed mere moments ago,
messy, blood and fluid drying in his hair and
clinging sticky to his unwashed body. You see
your eyes, my nose, your mouth, my hair color--
and wonderment rushes after, wonder at this gift
of God's grace so long waited for.

For this day waned long, through the pain of miscarriage,
you holding me in deep night sobs that you
barely understood, but compassion and love were
strong in you for the loss of the child you never knew--
whom only I knew with morning sickness wracking, nausea
beating down the days. Then, blink, and the child was gone.

But now the pain is lightened, released, as another child,
not a replacement but his own beloved self,
bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh,
looks deep into your eyes, his blue gaze wise--
as if he knows he's balm, he's joy,
he's the one we've waited for--
and you touch his face shaped like yours--
like yours already.

Returning to Carry On Tuesday

Ahhh, I'm finally returning to my previous schedule of writing (at least) a poem a week using the new Carry On Tuesday site prompts. It feels good to put pen to paper, allow ink and images to flow and meld, to not judge my work right at first but let it settle in, knowing that it will definitely require revision and reworking, but being okay with it...for now.

This week's Carry On Tuesday Prompt #56 comes from the opening words of Salman Rushdie's book Enchantress of Florence: "In the day's last light...."

Day's Last Light
Lowering myself to sit
on wooden porch steps
in the day's last light,
I sigh,
pulling in deep gloaming breaths
that purify body and spirit as
the rosy sky brightens
then darkens,
the sun slyly winking as it
disappears past purpling hills.

The quiet descends, too.

As birds settle into nests,
their songs all sung,
bats swoop darkly against
fading hues of the western sky.

I let it enter,
this peace--
allowing it to rinse away
trivialities that seemed
so pressing during daylit hours:
.....the kids' squabbling over chores,
.....the worries over unpaid bills,
.....the stresses of daily living
..........filling body and soul
all filtered away
until I'm left with calm,
vital Truth.

I curl into Him, content,
and He rocks me to sleep on His breast.

What's Really Important?

Each morning I read several devotional e-mails, and currently my favorite one comes from The High Calling of Our Daily Work. With the author's written permission, I am reproducing today's devotional in its entirety, as I believe it addresses an integral point of Christian and Church life.

Daily Reflection
by Mark D. Roberts,
Laity Lodge Senior Director and Scholar-in-Residence

What’s Really Important?

READ 1 Corinthians 3:1-9

It’s not important who does the planting, or who does the watering. What’s important is that God makes the seed grow. [1 Corinthians 3:7]

For sixteen years, I was senior pastor of Irvine Presbyterian Church, a moderate-sized church in Orange County, California. Compared to most churches in America, we were large. But Irvine Pres lived in the shadow of several megachurches, including Calvary Chapel Costa Mesa, Mariners Church in Newport Beach, and the granddaddy of them all, Saddleback Church, where Rick Warren is the senior pastor. Thus it was easy for smaller churches in the area to feel inconsequential. Over the years, I found myself in many conversations with pastors who, motivated by envy and resentfulness, spoke poorly of local megachurch pastors.

How sad! And how inconsistent with the teaching of 1 Corinthians 3. In this chapter, Paul begins by rebuking the Corinthians for their spiritual immaturity (3:1-3). What reveals the fact that they haven’t grown up in Christ? They are jealous and divisive, based on their divided loyalties to their favorite Christian leaders: “When one of you says, ‘I am a follower of Paul,' and another says, ‘I follow Apollos,' aren’t you acting just like people of the world?” (3:4).

Then, Paul moves from rebuke to instruction. He helps the Corinthians—and us—to understand Christian ministry in a new light. Apollos (an eloquent Christian evangelist in the time of Paul) and Paul are not the point. They are merely “God’s servants through whom you believed the Good News” (3:5). They served different and complementary roles when they were present in Corinth: “I planted the seed in your hearts, and Apollos watered it, but it was God who made it grow” (3:6). This growth, and especially its source, is the main thing: “It’s not important who does the planting, or who does the watering. What’s important is that God makes the seed grow” (3:7). Those who participate in the growth process “work together with the same purpose,” God’s purpose as God’s servants (3:8).

The Church of Jesus Christ, and the individual churches it comprises, will be healthy only when we think of church and ministry in the terms of 1 Corinthians 3. If one church grows large while another remains small, there is not room for jealousy or gossip. Both churches, and the pastors who lead them, are part of God’s work.

As pastor of Irvine Presbyterian Church, I was motivated by 1 Corinthians 3 to begin praying consistently for other churches in our area. In my private prayers and in my public prayers in worship, I would pray for our sister Presbyterian churches, as well as for other churches in our region, both small and large. Around the major holidays, I would make a special effort to pray for the megachurches and their pastors, because they were touching tens of thousands of people. If Saddleback Church added to their congregation after one Easter season as many people as Irvine Presbyterian Church had on our membership roles, thanks be to God! What was important was that God was making the seed grow.

QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION: Have you ever experienced divisiveness in church having to do with loyalty to different leaders? How does 1 Corinthians 3 challenge you to think, speak, act, and pray differently?

PRAYER: Dear Lord, today I thank you for the diversity of your church and its leaders. Though we emphasize different things, every church that preaches and lives your Gospel is part of your work in this world.

Help me, dear Lord, to see the church with your eyes. Keep me from petty jealousy and divisiveness. Help me to focus on what really matters, not who is doing the planting, but you and your work of growing your church.

I pray for church leaders today, that we would be unified in Christ and his truth, even as we differ over certain matters of theology or practice. Help those who shepherd your flock to do so with mutual appreciation and common prayer. Break down walls of division between churches and leaders. May we live out your calling as one people.

All praise be to you, O God, because you give the growth! Amen.


I find this devotional especially helpful today as I, also a Southern California resident, see the same attitude toward the mega-churches in the San Diego area: The Rock, Shadow Mountain, Journey Community Church, Horizon, Skyline, etc. I attend two smaller churches: Lake Murray Community Church with about 350 people (including children) and Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity with about 20-25 people, including kids, at each Sunday morning service. We attend on Friday mornings, and several shut-ins are unable to attend regularly, but it's still a very small church. While Lake Murray does much ministry: children's ministry, homeless ministry, ministry to retirement homes and County Mental Health, Alzheimers' homes, discipleship groups, Bible studies, etc., tiny Blessed Trinity offers the Free Teen Guitar Class--free guitar lessons to teens, taught by Father Acker himself--plus, they are very much involved with the other churches in Alpine through ecumenical Thanksgiving and Good Friday Stations of the Cross services, a community Christmas Dinner on Christmas Day, Easter services outdoors in the county park, and much involvement with the other churches in the community.

The few times I've been able to attend a Sunday service, I've noticed Father Acker praying for a specific church and pastor in the Alpine area. He's been quite involved in the monthly inter-church meetings among pastors in Alpine. Here is this little church praying for other churches. They get it: it's all about what is really important, or, rather WHO is really important: Jesus Christ our Lord and showing His love to others. And I really love that about this little group of Anglicans who gathers each Sunday morning in the auditorium of Alpine Elementary School. Not that Lake Murray does anything different or wrong; I guess the focus on the churches outside the home church is just more obvious at Blessed Trinity.

Weekend Away....

It's been a crazy-busy week with driving into the city Tuesday-Saturday, even twice on Thursday. So this weekend, I'll take E down into El Cajon for her SATs. While she tries to gain the extra 50 points she needs for the $4000/yr academic scholarship at PLNU, I will park myself in the nearest Starbucks with my fountain pen and a stack of MLA essays to grade, all due on Thursday plus student semester grades which are cumulative since September. I definitely have my work cut out for me.

After the SATs, we'll run a couple of errands before heading down to my parents' place at the beach. They're arriving home from their eight weeks in Hawaii and after my dad's double bypass surgery last month, they have no desire to come home to a house messy with construction dirt and the dusty footprints of the many workers (including Keith) who have been installing their elevator--which is being installed to help my mom climb the two flights of stairs in the house but now will also be used by my dad as he continues to recover from his surgery. So my parents have hired E to clean their home in preparation for their homecoming this week. Keith and the boys will be there as well as he finishes the few details of the installation--applying trim, etc. while she vacuums, dusts, cleans bathrooms and kitchen....

And me? I hope to finish grading essays but also stroll the half-block to the beach, dig my toes into the sand, and read the new Mary Higgins Clark novel I picked up from the library this week: The Shadow of Your Smile. It looks intriguing; she's one of the few contemporary mystery writers whose whole canon of work I've read and continue to read as each new book is released--including Anne Perry, Victoria Thompson, Lilian Jackson Braun-- although I started reading Mary Higgins Clark's books from the very beginning of her career with Where Are the Children? and A Cry in the Night under my desk in my high school Algebra II class.

So my plans for this weekend include sitting in the sun, slathered in organic sunscreen, the sea breezes fluttering my hair, and toes digging deep past hot surface sands into the deep, sea-cooled dampness that clings darkly to toenails. My laptop will remain chastely at home, gathering dust and able to also rest--for once.

So I shall see you all on Monday when I return to "real life"--our last week of homeschooling for the year, and my last week of officially homeschooling all four children. Ever. But I'm not going to think about that--at least not until E's graduation a week from tonight....

Dreams of Summer

After four months straight of online teaching, I am looking forward so much to this summer. After the busy-ness of grading final essays, adding up fourth quarter grades, birthdays, anniversaries, graduation ceremonies and parties coming up in the next two weeks, I have one thing on my mind:

Reading on the beach.

It may sound shallow, but right now I want nothing more than to settle into a low-slung canvas beach chair on Law Street Beach, dig my toes into sea-cooled sand, crack open a brand-new mystery novel, don my sunglasses, drink iced tea, and R-E-L-A-X. I want the crashing waves in my ears and in my eyesight when I look up. I want to stretch out on my Pride and Prejudice beach towel and, tucking my head into my arms, letting the sun bake my back.

And not a single, solitary deadline on the horizon.

I want to turn page after page, all afternoon--resting, relaxing, engrossed in something outside of myself for most of a day for once.

With absolutely no worries.

For an afternoon, at least.

And I hope to do this on Sunday briefly, even with deadlines looming and papers to be graded--but then return after the middle of the month and be able to relax with all deadlines met, all essays graded and returned.

So until I'm finished with this school year, I will dream of books and beaches, of toes digging deep into sand and sun streaming across my back.

Walking Hand in Hand

As June begins, thus starts a countdown...a passage of days until June 15. And a quarter of a century.

As my daughter paints her nails with Mickey Mouse ears as she readies herself for Grad Nite at Disneyland, I recall my own Grad Nite, our secret sparkling on my left hand--the engagement ring that we were planning to unveil at prom. But news this good couldn't wait, and I wore the diamond solitaire centered on the brushed gold band all night long. I tottered through the Magic Kingdom on high heels and in a skirt, the usual Grad Nite attire, my hand in his, the ring feeling cold and odd on my finger as the evening started. Yet by dawn, the ring belonged there, its weight comfortable, its promise inherent. Tearfully I removed it until the prom the next week.

A week later, during a quiet dinner for two served at my home, the ring was mine permanently, myself dressed in my mother's prom dress of fitted bodice and white net with pink satin bow, leaning across the candle-lit table as he slid the ring onto my left hand and promised to love me always.

A year later, a brushed-gold band joined the delicate diamond ring--the gold band designed in deep-emerald wax by Keith, the wax form melted out after the form was set; the melted gold poured in. Then the band brushed in a light criss-cross pattern, a smaller twin of his ring. On the June evening twenty-five years ago this month, the rings were given, the vows promised.

And we've walked--and continue to walk--hand in hand, rings pressed into soft flesh, through better and worse, through richer and poorer, through sickness and health. And none have parted us. None will.

My illness swells joints, and the two rings, engagement and wedding, sit in velvet-lined drawer, waiting for joints to normalize. My great-grandmother's slightly larger wedding band takes their place for now. Keith's band sits in the medicine cabinet as it causes itching and rashes when he wears it.

But love is more than bands, even golden ones. Love is feeling between sheets beneath heft of quilt, reaching for the other's hand to grasp in whispered prayer in darkness before sleep takes us. Love is pulling myself up from chair in eastern light, desiring his arms around me in morning embrace, my nose buried in his warm neck. Love is his gift of delicious meals each night, cooked despite his exhaustion of working all day, his hands roughened by the manual labor of the handyman work he does to put the wonderful meals in the pantry and on the table.

The communion of spirits, of Spirit, lived out in sacrament of marriage--in low conversations in wee small hours o' night, his bass voice reverberating through chest wall, my cheek rising and falling with his breath. Intimacy of souls, blessed by Hand of our Father, to Whom we pray together, with Whom we hope and dream together.

That's love, and prayer, and marriage--almost a quarter century of marriage. And we wait, ready for the next twenty-five...or more.

A Tuesday Poem

I'm still recovering from four months straight of teaching online classes at Brave Writer, and I haven't had time to look at, much less ponder and write on, the next Carry On Tuesday prompt, my usual approach to writing poetry.

While J played at last Friday's Guitar Jam with the Free Teen Guitar Class, I sat down at the nearby Starbucks with my poetry notebook--where I scribble down ideas and rough drafts. As I thumbed through the pages, I ran across a scrap I has jotted months ago:

fragility
weakness and strength
quilted together,
pattern to pattern,
layer to layer

So I sat down and began to play with the fragment, adding images and ideas, scratching out some lines, lengthening others, crossing through weak words and substituting stronger ones. And here's a full draft, still in rough form:

fragile
with the sleep of generations,
weakness and strength
quilted together,
pattern to pattern
layer to layer
with nearly invisible stitches
delicately swirled into
yellowing cotton,
passed from mother to
daughter to granddaughter and onward--
the handiwork of a time
without hurry or rush,
without blare of horns
and screech of telephones.

under this now-fragile quilt
marriages consummated,
babies birthed,
children sweated through measles;
others died.
generations slept
comforted by its heft
warmed by weave of
warp and weft,
work-worn hands
pushing needle
through taut cloth
again and again
in the fading evening light.

Copyright 2010 by Susanne Barrett