By Wayne Allensworth Decembers are strange in these parts. It’s cold — in the 30s — but the leaves have not fallen. Fall and winter mingle. I enjoy watching the leaves turn to reds and oranges and even purplish hues. The breeze is beginning to take some of them away, but they have a way to go before they all pile up in yards and on the trail I walk each morning. The pond shimmers in the morning...
By Wayne Allensworth William Blake illustration for the Book of Job Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? When the stars threw down their spears, And water’d heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? The Tyger William Blake To the eyes of the man of imagination...
By Wayne Allensworth And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, This is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left. Isaiah 30:21 I was taking my morning walk recently on a trail that runs behind our house and near a pond and the channel that feeds it. I walk it every day, and on some days, I can still see the moon, full and white, above...
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