Mark Scandrette

The coastal fog seeps
into the river valley
and clings to the fir trees and winter grasses
making dry scorched earth a wonderland.
The frozen mist makes the ordinary spectacular.
Ditches, abandon cars and shanty houses
covered in crystal white frost
belong together
a fleeting post card picture of order and beauty
made visible by the Oregon solstice wet chill.

I see you in the smallest details of our stories– brief glimpses of hope amidst the pain and confusion of being timebound.

We could spend less of our time comparing ourselves– or regretting where we are because of the choices we’ve made.

We can spend more of our energy discerning the next immediate step
into the light of love– instead of beating ourselves up because we fail to live up to our own ideals.

Could we evaluate success in terms of our ability to stay present to the voice of love that persists in the messiness of life in the here and now?