Wednesday, April 10, 2019 – Blush

A blush appears at the top of the eastern hills.

I watch it grow  in brilliance, peak, then fade.

Now there is no indication that moments ago

the sky over the hills was bright pink.

I would have missed the magic

if I had run for my camera.

Sometimes the wisest thing one can do

as a photographer and a sojourner

is to be still and pay attention.

That’s how poetry is birthed.

Word wrangler. Photo taker. I'm here early most mornings with one of my photos and a few words about life and those thin places where faith intersects.
2 comments
  1. Indeed. Your words convey more than a photo, however lovely, might.

    1. Thank you, Alexa.

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