Author: Tim
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Psalm 147: On The Cruelty of Nature
“He gives to the beasts their food,and to the young ravens who cry.” We see with natural eyes what we call natural law. We see animals eating, and then our logic finds no need to picture a god atop the food chain. And so we have to mentally edit texts like these and call them…
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June 26, 2010: Then, If Ever, Come Perfect Days
June in Ohio really is that line from the poem: “…then, if ever, come perfect days.” As we get older, time speeds up, but I still occasionally have that moment when you glance at the clock on a Saturday and it is only just past noon and you’re startled that it’s not near dusk. Today…
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Will You Be Planting Dahlias?
For my mother. Yes, you are in my bones,as matrix for the matrix of my marrowand my cells are busy building on your scaffoldthere, where bloods are born. On certain autumn midnights I would ridemy dreams against your sleep.You localized my life, assured yourself that I was fine,then turned upon your side. But now you…
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Merry Christmas, Figure It Out
There are good Christmases, but none perfect, because Christmas, more than any other season, vibrates with the tension between the “already” and the “not yet”, those two polarities that make up the Kingdom. The “not yet” of Christmas never totally gives way to the “already”, because the first Christmas Day, for those who lived it, felt utterly…
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Rockport, Massachusetts: October, 2022.
Stillman & Birn Zeta sketchbook, Lamy Safari pen, Carbon Black ink, Faber-Castell Durer WC pencils.
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Grandfather Mountain, October 2022.
From my brother’s hike. Sketchbook (Stillman & Birn Zeta series). Pen & Wash.
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The Cross of Blue Flame
You’d be walking home after Sunday evening church. The road goes through the holler and has never been paved. A few minutes past the golden hour, to the mauve hour, when the sun shafts are gone, but the sky is still lighter than the tree trunks. Woods on the right, the creek down the hill…
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Ruth’s Vow
H’Shem has never trapped my tears in angel bottlesor bedewed my bed with bread at dawnor shepherd-walked me past His glassy pondsand yet where Bethlehem breeds barleyI grow grey, and sing my vows.I vow to help. To ease your yearsand wash your baby’s ears. Beside your flocksI’ll sleep and someday sleep perpetuallywhere stones are stacked…
