Rush hour
Cobb County
Nothing to mess around with
And yet, and yet
Amidst sirens, fast tires, honking horns
On the corner of busy Barrett Parkway
And Old 41
I hear them
First through my closed window
at the red traffic light
I stop mid-thought
Startled
Stunned by the sound
Of spring peepers in February
Hope
New Life
I roll down my window
Stick out my head as far as it will go
And listen
Breathe
Take in the sweet little sound

Thank you, God, for
Moments like these,
Glimpses of grace
In a world gone mad

God of the Shooting Star

November 26, 2016

I caught your wink
A nod of the head
A divine constellation

One Shooting Star is all I need
And all you gave

Whirling still
In my brain
You nod acceptance..and hope

I get the go ahead.

As most of you know, I’m a Coke Zero freak..and thus, I spend a lot of time driving through the takeout at McDonald’s where they cost $1 on my many drives as a hospice chaplain..and well, all the time!

What strikes me often, is the look of vulnerability on the server’s face as they reach out their hand to receive my money or hand me my drink in a plastic cup.

I remember my first job at Atherton’s Drug store on the Square in Marietta..and then my second as a server at McDonald’s. I was a JET high school student, commuting to what was known then as Kennesaw Junior College, now KSU.

I was 17 and believe it or not LOVED my job at McDonald’s. I learned from young people who lived ‘across the tracks’. Also known as 41.

I learned from my bosses who led team meetings where the girls received charms for our bracelets based on the time we had worked there, a new one every three months. I remember 5 cent raises and clocking in. I remember how much fun it was to go to work, how excited I was to receive a paycheck, how badly I wanted to do a good job.

And I remember the customers..patient old people, young kids, harried mothers, buses full of band members and sports teams.

I rememeber how kind and patient some people could be..and I remember the ones who were ugly and mean.

I think of these memories when I go through the Drivein now–some 44 years later.

I look in the faces, so young and so green.

I ask you, no matter what fast food restaurant you frequent–no matter what store you are in– to remember your first job, to be especially patient if the line moves slowly, to be kind and give a smile to these vulnerable young people, so new to their work and to life..

So wonderfully, beautifully green.

They say raw oysters are an aphrodisiac.

All I know is that they are sensuous.

One can’t eat them without thinking of something fine, pleasurable, scrumptious.

I’m at the beach.

I put my feet in. I ate raw oysters. I drank a beer.

I had my palm read.

I’ve only done this twice in my life.

Once, several years ago when my heart was breaking and I didn’t think I could go on. Living.

The second time, an hour ago.

The reader was dark and short and is named Mrs. Dewberry.

I asked her how she knew how to practice her trade. She said her grandmother did it, and then her mother, and now she.

It’s a generational psychic ability–or a sham– or a combination.

I like what she said. She gave me hope.

Is that so terrible?

Adolescent Leaves

May 1, 2013

Round lobes and pointed stars

greet me this morning

like children of friends.

Their green so tender

their texture so thin.

They arrive like infant hope.

They crowd the woods.

They push the air aside.

They make way for themselves.

They are fearless in their youth, recklessly tiptoe on branches,
balance like tightrope walkers high in the limbs.

They wave there. Salute the world bravely. Innocent to the heat that will come when their veins thicken.

I’m going to a bridal shower today.

The bride is beautiful and innocent.

She plans her wedding with hope.

I hope for her the best in her marriage.

No one plans divorce.

Spring Forward

March 10, 2013

Im not sure when I’ve wanted Spring to come so badly.

It’s been a long and dreary Winter. Not the extreme cold or the beautiful snow of some years, but the drawn out rain and windchill which cause the dark days to seem even darker.

God, I love Spring!

The hope of purple hyacinths; the prayers of Jack-in-the-Pulpit; the slow buzz of insects emerging from the ground.

I love the warm winds and the light–a different color and tone, the value painted on the skin.

I love farmers turning the earth and baby plants outside grocery stores.

I love thinking about my own kitchen garden and what I may plant this year; which flowers will replace the pansies in my clay pots out front.

I love thinking about sex in the Spring and how it flies through the air.

The hope is here. It resides in a day like today.

Tomorrow, it is supposed to rain. I’m sure we’ll have more cold weather.

But for now, I am basking in the Light and the Promise that there will, indeed, be a Spring.