from a slow and sudden God: 40 years of wonder.

illustrations are intended to,
well, illustrate.

but i am focused on my
plans for tomorrow.

i’ll be boarding a plane
and flying south,
entering a journey
from present location
to future destination.

carry on.
size and weight and ingredients.
life terms.
more than phrases for flights.

do we mean what we are saying?
do we mean what we are praying?
do we mean what we are singing?

i arrived.
i experienced.
i talked.
i told stories.

you listened, i believe,
to my illustrations
illustrating my confusion
of this life flight.

i had never met you or you or you
but i, somehow,
let you and you and you know me,
well and deeply,
know me and hear my story
as i heard your stories.

masks removed, we told stories.
we followed guidelines and instructions while experiencing constructions
of inner healing.
healing, that word
we know and don’t know.
we, us now, composed,
as one, together.
but only briefly.

respecting perspectives.
interstate closed for repairs.
mental art takes a start
through creativity’s adventure
of design amid dreaming.

thoughts walk regularly and
merge many moods
in seconds.

encephalitis. spell the word.

those days and these days.

so much i would be telling you
if we were still communicating.
so much i would be asking you
if we were still communicating.

her eyes rolled in my direction;
she didn’t like what i had stated,
and she said so with that reflection.

the coming and the going.
the guessing and the knowing.
our doubt and our faith
travel together in this
adventure of mystery.

i remembered, accurately i think,
three weeks of rain in georgia.

the sun surprised me yesterday
when it came back up.

clouds had covered us
but the beauty of the shine’s brightness reminded me maybe all
my hurts aren’t the end of the story.

maybe, hidden by clouds of pain,
the warmth remains.

different times and deferent faces.
fresh stories about brand new faces.

on my way, maybe.
here soon, maybe.