Growing Aristocracy


Sometimes life just slips in slow,

hesitant, on feet of crepe;

self-doubt-dressed, with head hung low,

apologetic for its shape.

Little one, lift up your eyes,

dare to claim the legacy

Your Maker saw as noble prize,

growing aristocracy.

The Breath of Spring


If home is where heart-aches hang their hats,

what shovel can make the mat welcome?

Only Chinook winds of forgiveness,



wafting on Spirit wings,

can melt Denial

and soften Stubbornness

with the breath of Spring.