Gratefully Present - Missoula, Montana

“If you must look back, do so

forgivingly. 

If you must look forward, do so 

prayerfully.

However, the wisest thing you can do is 

be present in the present... gratefully.”

- Maya Angelou (1928-2014)

Cloudy With A Chance Of Wisdom - Missoula, Montana

"Thirty-nine years of my life had passed before I understood that clouds were not my enemy; that they were beautiful, and that I needed them. I suppose this, for me, marked the beginning of wisdom. Life is short." - Iimani David

See what wise workings are occurring with the Sri Lanka team at JourneysWithGod.com .

Poured Poetry, Shelby, Montana

"We are not all poets

But God pours poetry
In, above, around us
In everything we see"

 - from "We Are Not All Poets" by Janet Martin

Visit Janet at Another Porch and dive into more lyrical sunshine - or any other strain of thoughtful word weavings she has on offer.

Heaven’s Landscaping, Missoula, Montana

This day, dear ones bid a formal farewell to a loving man, who stepped up as an extra dad when I desperately needed a good one. All these years, it’s been great comfort knowing his solid, practical self puttered about the home place, and a visit ensured his “Hello, daughter!“ greeting. Now memory must deliver his wisdom and (often corny) humour - but what a treasure trove he left in the minds and hearts of family and friends.

On days like this, I look to the sky. I like to think of fabulous clouds as heaven’s front yard landscaping, setting the stage to welcome travelers home. I know, I know, maybe the literal location isn’t just a hop, skip, or jump beyond the firmament we see. But since I haven’t been there yet, I just don’t know; and it could be, so dive with me into that fanciful thought.

You are dearly missed, Dad, and we can’t even realize yet how much.
Happy trails, until we meet again. In salute to your genuine cowboy self, here’s a horsey landscape quote that I think you’d like, from one of my favourite western genre authors.

“There were clouds at the mountains, and the snow pack reflected the sour-lemon sun into one of the most beautiful and perverse sunsets I had ever seen. The clouds were dappled like the hindquarters of an Appaloosa colt, and the beauty kicked just as hard. The head wind rattled the bare limbs of the cottonwoods as the longer branches swayed, and the remnants of grass and sage shuddered close to the ground.”
-From “The Cold Dish” by Craig Johnson

Dark Sky, Hamilton, Montana

'I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day'

By Gerard Manley Hopkins 1844–1889

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.

What hours, O what black hours we have spent

This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!

And more must, in yet longer light's delay.

With witness I speak this. But where I say

Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament

Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent

To dearest him that lives alas! away.

I am gall, I am heartburn. God's most deep decree

Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me;

Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.

Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see

The lost are like this, and their scourge to be

As I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.

 

 

Every new-to-me read of any Gerard Manley Hopkins poetry underscores why my eldest niece so loves his writing. Thanks, A., for the introduction.

 

Boxed Cornice, Hamilton, Montana

With modern construction techniques often focused on weather-tightness, I sometimes am amazed how neglected wooden structures have withstood wind, snow, hail, and rain, over decades. Abandoned homesteads are a familiar sight in the farming region we grew up in. Seeing the old houses, barns, and granaries always makes me wonder at the stories they have to tell.