Flesh biting wind...wild with wet...
Fresh from boiling sea...
Clouds, damp, and cutting grey in bluster thick...
Scuttle full in eastern sprint...
And braced against, I lean toward...
A secret space of thankfulness.
Flint like trail, pencil thin...
Serpentine squiggles...snakes cliff edge high...
Infused with pink...yet tough as nails...
Granite glistens salty wet...and whispers wary, one false step...
As crashing cannons roll, and...
Volley battlements below...
Lichen abstracts like J Pollack’s paint...
Thrown alive on canvas north, stretched taught and vast...
Burnt burgundy flashed rich with golden orange...
Scumbled soft in bluish gray...
Mossy mounds raised round with lush of green...
While lance like grasses hold golden sway in windswept dance...
As partners move unseen...and...
Outcrops heather scrub with splashes deep maroon...
Tangled left and up...hang on and drip in heavy dew...
Juniper leans left and far toward the cleft...
Twisted long from northern push...
Lessons hard lived long...
Sculpted deep and chiseled hard...
To make iconic strong...
And persevere yes, on and through...and as result....
Weathered beauty birthed through pain...
And sings for joy, despite the rain.
We walked that path today...
My guide who comes aside with comforts aid...
In thoughtful backsplash memorial...
Salt licked lips long cracked and dry...
Kelps scent strongly held on whipping wind...
We walked deep edge steep...
In mostly silent wander...
High above the breakers crash...
With scent of salt and raucous gulls...
Minds eye recalls the deepest past...
Of once that beat so strong...
And carried back to distant heart...
That place where, while in midst of storm...
Tears commingled rain...
That place of windswept wild...
Whipped wet with blue grey bluster strong...
And seemed that life was almost gone...
And then...just o're the distant brow...
Through windows pane of pub aglow...
With crackling fire...a waiting pint and pen to written word...
Surrounded voices murmured soft...
Alone in introverted peace, in silence there...
He slips just by...
And then, He turns, and sits with gentle smile...
And warmth with shoulder's touch He gives and yes, He lives...
And always in pursuit with love...
Arrives, He is...eternities friend.
And always in pursuit with love...
Arrives, He is...eternities friend.
As clouds break small through heavy fog...
With shaft of light and purpose sure...
As change arrives and with Him brings...
From grey to green and glazed with golden light...
He finds that place...so rare and yet so long forgot.
His one vocation true...and so pursues...
To find my heart...
And life again to bring anew...
To dream alive with Him...
Of purpose far...
Beyond all time and space.
And so as year begins...
It’s not too late...it never is...
To let Him in by act of faith and,
Choose once more, to live, to love again!
“But forget all that—
it is nothing compared to what I am going to do.
it is nothing compared to what I am going to do.
For I am about to do something new.
See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.
I will create rivers in the dry wasteland. Isaiah 43:18-19 (NLT)
See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.
I will create rivers in the dry wasteland. Isaiah 43:18-19 (NLT)
Copyright: J. Douglas Thompson 2012
