Drops of Color
That’s why

Walking across a bridge
back and forth,
then back AGAIN!

Why?

History, painted in boards,
stain after stain
after bloodied stains!

Why write about the past?
Why speak out?
Why invoke the memories?

So that they no longer repeat
themselves…that’s why!

Seems we have to cross bridges
AGAIN and again and again.

Together, let us keep crossing
the bridges until we realize
everyone is free to cross.

No matter your race.
No matter your religion.
No matter your gender.

What matters is:  YOU are!
                                We are…One.

Cross the bridge—
help the ones who cannot
get across!

Let us carry one another.

No One is too heavy.

We are all Sisters & Brothers.
We are all welcome
to dwell in 
‘A Promised Land.’

It’s time.

We cannot give up trying.

CROSS

let’s cross

until no one is left
behind.

Drops of Color
Here Again…asking the same Question

Chewy, rich, gooey

savory, chocolaty
seeping with delight.

One wrapper removed
—ingesting the tiny piece of candy.

Treats…no tricks.

Ahhh, unwrapping another
—it only gets better.

The gourd seems to smile
filled with pleasures.

Is this season really here…AGAIN?

Seems only yesterday I wondered,

“What shall I be?”

Did I pack away the costume?

Funny, each year
I ask the same question
—deep down really asking,

“Who am I
after removing
all the wrappers?”

Drops of Color
Jump In

That’s right!

Take a few steps back.
Catch your breath.
On your mark, get set…Go!

Before you…
a pile lifting to the sky.
Red, yellow, orange fading leaves
 wait for You.

Leap from the ground,
dive in
‘crunch, crack, crunch.’
A smattering of leaves fills the 
air, and you
lay upon a leafy bed.

Autumn’s golden moments.

Jump in before
the winds arrive
carrying the world
into another wonder.

Drops of Color

The Bridge

A long trail
through the woods…

Hours passed, the color
became ever more vibrant
as the sun reached its zenith.

An opening drew back the trees,
and a bridge suddenly
visible…it appeared as
an opened hand
reaching out,
“Come, Come and Cross.’

I stepped before realizing
my feet already in motion.

Wooden boards, giant oaks, formed a cover.
In the bridge’s center,
‘all’ the light—out.

In the darkness, I held my place,
for how long—unknown.

The darkness revealed messages
—unwritten realities expressing
the beginning of all things.
The black shadows hid-den
within this bridge held the void.

The ‘hand’ nudging me through—to another side.

The deep shades made way for
the pastel paintings of life— good.
It is all GOOD.

I walked, glancing back
—the bridge held the full moon
in its hand.

Drops of Color

This Glass

It was a small glass making
its way around the room.

A smattering of ‘lip’ gloss appeared
along its edge.

Yes, a sip was had
by one, then another
and another.

Still,
the succulent juice
did not run dry.
Instead, it ran over

pouring itself

on those who
chose to 
drink from its contents.

The lives of those who drank
changed.

They could not stop serving.

Drops of Color
A Story Book…

with only two pages,
soft, translucent.

Across the ocean, its ‘binding’
secure, while the weightless orange
sheets fan precisely

and hold

hovering long enough to glide with
the sea’s breeze.

The story book takes on several
days of travel.
When land in sight, a
soft clover begins a new paragraph.

The last sentence…
the pages take flight
seeking a place where
the story will begin again!

Listen to the story—
its power turns
the tides.