Snapshot Dreams

Pages of snap shots in my dreams.


I rise early in the morning a few seconds post dawn. The melted butterscotch sky is streaked with baby blue and left over indigo. A nice squall blew up last night and the sand has no footprints in it. The sand dunes are pregnant with sea oats. The oats, my favorite tropical grass, sway charmingly in the breeze and quietly support the island with their roots. The large oats smell like salt and theirs stalks tall and sleek weave into grass.


Just in a snap spot of my dreams I take off running from shore as the rain begins. I dash and grab my laundry on the clothes line.. At that moment your camera just happened to find my face and you say,” your eyes are blue- gray, like seawater.” I close my eyes. When I open them you are gone.
Shutter stop.

He said,

He said, “I saw you through the laughter, and the noise.”

“you were talking with the pretty girls and boys.”

” I love the way you smiled with a crooked little grin.”

“your eyes moved as if blue gray thunder struck them.”

“then there a moment’s instant static glimpse of sadness.”

“then, you were gone.”

Yesterday

Photo by RDNE Stock

I am rolling away from yesterday with some stone bruises in my heart.

They brought me pain once, now they just remind me of my brand new start.

Now I’m just cruising away underneath the Texas stars.

I am rolling away with no rearview mirror, don’t need one anymore.

My horizon and vision have never been as clear as this before.

Now I am cruising away singing and winging my way in all the Joy.

The Silent Unseen

i had no idea there was a plan to assassinate me. I had no idea rogue cells were forming and restless.

For many years the rogue cells lay dormant, multiplying in untold numbers. Patient, waiting their turn to attack and traumatize.

The enemy knows intelligence and stealth are the tried and true method. These cells also know there is One who will fight for the target’s life at all cost. It is the Assassin’s most feared foe.

This One is Creator, Healer, and Master of everything…

The assignment is do what needs doing and hopefully wear down the target relentlessly, however there will be no victory if the Unseen Savior commands healing and speaks death to the assassin.

The plan remains in place in the silent unseen to sting and stun until The Master comes.

By his wounds we are healed. Isaiah 53:5

The Knockout Punch

The knockout punch…

I have eaten nothing in three days.

The pain in my chest is a slow agony.

I have no memory of warmth with others of my kind.

Although fading, my longing drives my soul forward.

A primal memory of Joy beats like a captured bird in my brain.

Yet somehow I know Him and see the full Glory of God.

So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me. Genesis 16:13

Watercolor Garden

Camellias are blooming stout and ruffled in oh so many rosy shades of pinks!

Azalea bushes lay a thick carpet for Gulf summer heat and rain.

The golden-green sea oats weave and spin the island’s core in an endless ballet.

All the while, the Faithful Morning Glories, pink and yellow, vine along the sand like a hodgepodge of holiday lights.

The salt sits thick upon my skin and hair.

I am baptized in a wave and the horizon melts into carnival colors of pulled taffy in my Watercolor Garden.

Trace of Sorrow

It is an iridescent dragon fly purple and blue
It so cleverly hovers over the pond of your brow
It is an agile flyer and can be high or low, come and go
It has life expectancy of a week or so…

This is how I see traces of sorrow
A vivid an electric color, impossible to miss
An aviator like no other, comes from anywhere
This trace may be brief, a week or so…

or maybe no one knows…

Child Faith

She remembers the smell of the pink flowers on the bushes growing along the footpath that winds down the hill to the Church. She remembers the colors of the huge domed roofed fifties cars, one in each driveway that were the size of army tank. When she would stand up on the front seat she never once thought her Daddy’s arm could not save her if they crashed. The thought never entered her young mind…child like Faith.

High School Fiction

These high school halls are not hallowed halls but they are unsurpassed in the scheme of life lessons….Truth and Fiction …

Remember that boy with the unfortunate eyebrows hurrying down the hall as if afraid or embarrassed? He was.

Remember that girl passing a note to her “steady” guy declaring her undying devotion because he said he “loved” her? He did not.

Remember when you thought a certain friend’s family seemed so perfect? They were not.

The stereo- types still linger in these tales of fiction. Fifty years later and I can name them all by heart.

We all wanted to be (well most of us) to be prettier, cuter, thinner, funnier, taller, shorter, darker, lighter, a better singer, a better dancer, the beauty queen, the sports star, the math genius, or the valedictorian.

I guess it is like the “Breakfast Club” and the “Big Chill” movie all rolled up together. (we did have the best music though). I always felt like the adults in my days of high school tried to minimize the harshness of the unspoken boundaries. There are many people that I admired from afar and would have like to have known better but there was also a nagging burden of exposure.

Ends up that about ninety-nine percent of High School Fiction left some of us hurt and even wounded and that is where reality steps in. No, we had not yet let our tender souls relax in the discovery zone of finding there is no such thing as perfect. How could we know that what lay ahead would require a lot more truth and a little less comparison?

Just saying…