“Platonic” by Mary Ruefle: Did it mean anything? The stone, the rose, darkness, wood, wind, flame, the violin. The practical man, the visible world, t…
-by Macrina Wiederkehr Slowly she celebrated the sacrament of letting go. First she surrendered her green, then the orange, yellow, and red finally sh…
Grief by Gail Mazur Don’t speak to me of heartbreak, I have an argument with habits of metaphor—it’s not the heart In April I brought tulips white pal…
From Rob Hardies, my pastor at All Souls Church, Unitarian comes this: Though the dry leaves still cling to the oak tree's branches outside my study w…
One Today, by Richard Blanco One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores, peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces of the Great Lakes, sprea…
The Real Work by Wendell Berry It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come to our real work, and that when we no longer know which w…
The Vacation by Wendell Berry Once there was a man who filmed his vacation. He went flying down the river in his boat with his video camera to his eye…
Aristotle BY BILLY COLLINS This is the beginning. Almost anything can happen. This is where you find the creation of light, a fish wriggling onto land…
We are here for what amounts to a few hours, a day at most. We feel around making sense of the terrain, our own new limbs, Bumping up against a herd o…
My brother Ted recently read this poem to our 85 year old mother and he reported that "when I was done she had tears in her eyes." I can see why. Abso…
