It used to be that camouflage was something worn to be hidden. The concept is simple enough, and ever since man learned of the need to hide to hunt, he has used the concept of blending in with colors.
If I could describe the witnessing of darkness becoming light, it would be a careful unwrapping of a surprise gift.
"Waaaaa waaaa waaa waaaa waaaa waaaaaa wa waa waaaaaa.” If you understood this, then you know Charlie Brown. More importantly, if you understood the unmistakable voice of the never-seen teacher, then you know, or at the least appreciate, Charles Schulz.
The shot is in the air, and the fans are hushed with hope. Everyone saw the catch, jump, release and the ball slide through the nylon net.
The work of the day was done, and she watched from behind the white and blue curtains as he walked to the house.
She was once blonde and young, and her skin was warm and with life. Now she is old, shuffles to walk, takes long naps, and her skin is thin, white and cold.
Sometimes you watch. It is late in the day and the moon is early, curtseying in the sky.
He has a splinter in the index finger of his right hand, and he looks to the eyes of his father.
If all good stories have a beginning, then this great story really does not begin nor does it end.
She smelled like skunk, red dirt, old shoes, weathered leather, wild onions, wet leaves, molded straw and the dark side of the barn, where the sun never shines and last week’s rain puddles.
It was routine. His son is tucked beneath a blanket, a quilt and a sheet. Darkness and only the faint glow of a nightlight provides a source for shadows.
He is young and old, all at once. He has outlasted tools, even though his calloused hands are scarred.
The horrific shootings this past Friday are a reminder of how innocent and precious life is.
Some look at photographs, some visit familiar places and some read letters from the past.