Posts tagged word a week

Worker – A Word Challenge from Word in your Ear

April 23, 2013 · Filed under hope, integrity, postaday, prompts, struggles, Uncategorized · Tagged , , , , , , ,

A tired, aching mother whose shift is 24/7.

A construction worker shivering in the cold.

A police officer or fireman, ready always, for life or death.

A food server, polite, behind a tired, bored smile.

A lawyer, pacing the courtroom, pleading belief.

A student, studying for a test that seems meaningless.

A teacher wondering if what she is forced to teach really matters.

A minister shouting out his perception of God and man.

A drug dealer strolling the backstreets of town.

We work, just as we breathe, because we are driven to,

Whether man or animal, we work to live, to eat, exist.

All the while wondering if it is worth it, if it will mean anything.

Stop. Close your eyes. Let 10 workers march through your soul.

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The Nostalgia of Wood

December 28, 2012 · Filed under children, grandchildren, history, memories, nature studies, nostalgia, prompts, seasons, Uncategorized · Tagged , , , , , ,

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Wood-the forts we made, with dad’s help among pines and poplars, the smoke arising from a campfire in autumn, holding a sleepy child in front of a fireplace, a tree in the forest, charred, but still alive.

A fallen tree makes me wonder how large the tree was when I was born,  if my grandpa climbed it, maybe planted it.  When I see wood, I realize that it may have been here before me and may be here long after me. In all of its’ fragility, wood seems to speak of endurance.  The lines within a log upon the ground, they speak of drought, or rainy years, they carry the voice of the creatures who lived when each log was a tree.

I see “my” crows standing in a snag above my house, waiting for me to put out scraps and then calling to their comrades. I see my grandpa hauling in logs for grandma’s woodstove. I stack railway ties to make a wall for my garden. I inhale the fragrance of new wood in a young house, waiting patiently for memories yet to come.

Wood is a diary, an album of our being. I touch it gently, reminded of all the meanings it holds.

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