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Found 5 results

  1. Tinker

    Orb

    Orb It's what they call a harvest moon although the harvest is pretty much over now. Round and orange and plump just sitting way up there in the November sky, marbled silence all alone not really shining more like a shadowed globe. These days I feel like that full of things to say yet isolated in the stillness shaded by loss and brightened by small joys, no more a fireworks display but a steady glow with just enough watts to find my way. --- --- Judi Van Gorder
  2. Tinker

    Morning Brew

    Here is a bit of fluff for the morning.... Morning Brew Breathe in the heady aroma of coffee brewing. Pour, then grasp the hot mug, warming palms to heart and peer into the dark, steaming, pool to find the entrance to the day. Slowly savor the smooth, bittersweet of the full bodied liquid, and feel the burn while it slides down the throat. Ahhh...... Good morning. . . Judi Van Gorder
  3. Tinker

    Crystal Clear

    Crystal Clear Winter has frozen the smallest movement outside, cold creeps into the cabin and I wake to tend a dying fire, poking at coals, adding kindling. A small whiff of smoke puffs back at me and I can taste the acrid woody warmth. Hidden away from the clanking, honking, rush of our yesterday I breathe clean air washed with a hint of pine. The dawn catches no sound, not the trickle of water nor your absent snore and from my frosted window I see a crystal world of unsoiled prospects. --- Judi Van Gorder An old one posted a long time ago at the Connection I brought it here to archive.
  4. Tinker

    An Old Cliché, Love

    An Old Cliché, Love Backs to the sea as the sun sets on our lives we stand, equal partners bound by a pledge and a ring. Our feet firmly planted on the shore we lock fingers to steady each other on the shifting sands and face forward for one more adventure, committed to watch our last sunrise together. -------- ----Judi Van Gorder
  5. Tinker

    Freedom

    Freedom On the coastal cliffs shaded gray, I look out to a blackened sea. A spiny strata fragments under foot and a jolting descent begins. Needle pricks of stinging wind press upward into chest, throat and face. Sour bile rises like black tar boiling from the belly. . . fall or fly. . . . --- Judi Van Gorder.
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