this moment of promise

when will it be
and what does it look like
and what is it made of
and how can we find it
and will we even know it when we see it

isn’t it faith

an undergirding presence trying to make its way to the light
inner inklings that guide us like waymarks in the dark

isn’t it hope

the fresh springing within us, irrepressible impulse to be,
doors and windows inviting us to open

isn’t it love

the gentle breath of approval hovering ever
beneath harsh, dark thoughts of despair
an embrace of air, of life, of stars, of trees
that sing our place among them
here in this space,
where loneliness, where longing, where hunger try to consume all light…
here in this very place


presence, grace, abiding, to share.
enough to drink and drink beyond our fill,
with more left over than we can see,
with more to give,
with more to love,
with more to live.

contentment has no strings,
belongs to no body, no thing,
but rises up,
the essence we are
within us
to own this now,
this here,
and to spill its sweet presence all around us.

no strings, no space, no time,
just the presence of faith that nudges us,
hope that encourages,
and love that reminds and reminds and reminds us
that we are loved,
in Love, of Love, through Love
the very loved of the divine infinite Love
reflecting love


i love this poem by e.e. cummings:

do the

of the lit
tle once beau
tiful la

dy(sitting sew
ing at an o
pen window this
fine morning)fly

instead of dancing
are they possibly
afraid that life is
running away from
them(i wonder)or

isn’t she a
ware that life(who
never grows old)
is always beau

tiful and
that nobod
y beauti

ful ev
er hur



and these:

To live and let live, without clamor for distinction or recognition; to wait on divine Love; to write truth first on the tablet of one’s own heart, — this is the sanity and perfection of living…
(Message to The Mother Church for 1902, Mary Baker Eddy, p. 2:4–7)

So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love. I Corinthians 13:13 ESV


the trout run is early this year.

the taste of autumn in the air.

all too beautiful for words.

but words will have to do, as long as we leave enough space in between them for the air to speak.

the Ganaraska River is filled with trout swimming upstream, making their way from Lake Ontario, up through town, over the rocks, past the fisherman.  impasse after impasse, there’s no stopping them.

come on they say,


get to the task.

the way is straight and narrow.


find infinity


i love this poem by Godfrey John:


(Isaiah 54:2; Judges 18:10)



Friend, look close:

beneath your feet

is holy ground.

Under all questions

the heart longs

for a people, a place

in the morning light.



Look again:

place is community,

is one

whatever lies bright

in each of us.

Now under your hand

a purpose springs.

For place is prayer

in the wilderness.

As you walk the wastes


Love wills in you a sweet land . . .

let love go out of you left and right;

let each secret prayer embrace

the people in you, the desolate.

Place is the practice:

here locate!

*Enlarge the place of thy tent, and let them stretch forth the curtains of thine habitations: spare not, lengthen thy cords, and strengthen thy stakes…Isaiah 54:2

*When ye go, ye shall come unto a people secure, and to a large land: for God hath given it into your hands; a place where there is no want of any thing that is in the earth. Judges 18:10