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The senses keep their own record of a day — smoke, salt air, the hush after the last shell breaks open above the water.

A holiday spent among strangers has a way of asking who, and what, we put ahead of everything else.

Notes from the desk: what I am working on, what has stalled, and what the waiting has been teaching me.

Watching the bird feeders on a snowy day was the inspiration for this poem. “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.” — Isaiah 1:18

An allegorical devotion — the first allegory I have written, set in my new home along the Tidewater creeks.

Two blue crabs, a kayak, and a move across the country — the first entry in a slow record of grace.