Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
easter
i'm happy it's Easter.
i'm happy it's Easter because that brings us a day farther away from the ennui of the winter gloom.
i'm happy it's Easter because we're father away from the gloom of the world.
i'm happy it's Easter because sooooo many people choose today to celebrate at the table of our Lord.
i'm happy it's Easter because as a result of so many people celebrating and partaking of the body and blood of our Lord, we have to stand in church and feel the throng...the throng of celebration...the song of grace and hope.
i'm happy it's Easter because after the singing...the eucharist...the genuflection...we go home to our small, groovy house...and cook for some of our extended family.
Happy Easter!
i'm happy it's Easter because that brings us a day farther away from the ennui of the winter gloom.
i'm happy it's Easter because we're father away from the gloom of the world.
i'm happy it's Easter because sooooo many people choose today to celebrate at the table of our Lord.
i'm happy it's Easter because as a result of so many people celebrating and partaking of the body and blood of our Lord, we have to stand in church and feel the throng...the throng of celebration...the song of grace and hope.
i'm happy it's Easter because after the singing...the eucharist...the genuflection...we go home to our small, groovy house...and cook for some of our extended family.
Happy Easter!
Friday, February 13, 2009
sheesh
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
fare thee well Kubota
Monday, January 26, 2009
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