I am Ruth
gleaning in the field,
pulling grass from the
straw as a
garden helper
to my husband.
My only companion
is a black swallowtail
drinking greedily
from the asclepias.
I would rather be
taking pictures of the butterfly
than pulling grass.
But marriage is about
sacrificial love.
I am Ruth
while Boaz waters the trees.
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Are prayers before faith phrases falling, mist-like, evaporating to the ground— waves of words echoed empty, hollow, voiced but lost, just unheard sound? Are cries crammed into car...
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Tree blossoms, heat breeze, falling leaves, white water dream— seasons never fail. Lumbering storm clouds rest palms of rain on the earth— nature breathes anew. A ...
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