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Poetry

The Gardener’s Shears

“Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised…

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Stories

Sweet is the Sleep

The labourer at a greenhouse must suffer much for the sweetness of sleep. Some days she doth stand upon her feet for eight hours. She heaveth…

Ramblings

Strangers

A tall man with a mustache swings the store door open. His black cap perches jauntily on his head—backwards—and he walks with a swagger. His unzipped…

Poetry

The Frost-Bitten Sun

The frost-bitten sun sinks. Puckered rosehips, brilliant drops of blood, Sprinkle among the scraggly underbrush, While silvery drifts slouch deep in their beds. The twisted poplar…

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Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.

Philippians 4:8