Into The Woods

is where I go for peace

There is always something to see

that tells me

that, at least here,

there is balance and life.

War

Is never pretty.
We tend to paint pictures
Where the Good
The Bad are labeled.
Yet neither speak.

Ike was a hero
To some
But I was told
He was crazy
The man who led
The allies to victory
With overwhelming costs
Was a crazy man

Who are we to judge
Actions that are past
We did not wear
Their uniforms nor their shoes
We did not lay in foxholes
And hear the screams

We rally
Scream "No War!"
In violent voices
And mistakenly think
Our violence begets peace

We cannot think
We know the answers
The solutions
In every instance of violence
There is a choice
We do not know
The heavy weight of choice
Until we alone must choose

I sing "Peace"
And
Soulfully
Hope
I
Never
Have
To
Choose

Sometimes there are reasons to war.

Poets United

Yesterday's Moon

still hung in the sky and greeted the morning sun.  I seldom see this but it always amazes me. Maybe it's nothing special but it felt special.  I did not question it but simply enjoyed it.

The same moon last night showed through the Mulberry tree that I used for support.  I have neither the proper camera, tripod or intelligence to take a fantastic moon picture but this night the joy was in the trying, not the end result.

Once again, I have awakened before four AM.  The weather has cooled and so the windows are open, letting the night air in.  I wake with a stuffed nose and try Granny's old trick of Vick's.  I smell it and breathe better but not well enough to return to sleep.  So here I am again, sharing the thoughts ricocheting in my brain in the morning hours.

After a house full of people yesterday that left one by one, I welcomed the quiet. Papa and the boys left for the demolition derby.  As much as I love to see vehicles crash violently into one other, get turned over with cars smoking and people crawling out of said cars, running to safety, I declined the invitation and stayed home.

I welcomed the quiet and spent it reading a wonderful book by Greg Iles, one of my favorite new authors. The house smelled of Pinesol from the day's cleaning and there were no chores that called my name.  I got lost in Pen Cage's adventure and left this world behind,  if only for a little while.

Once again in the early predawn, the roosters begin to greet the day and I think of dumplings and fried chicken and dressing...they don't crow after they become these dishes.