Deanna

I am living at the entrance to eternity— In my tent with me A water jug, a lantern, blanket, bread, Prayer, abiding.   I had seen my brother, all white, Go in, the door opened By two unspeaking, misty personages. No fanfare, just A sacred stepping in to the light And the hushed closing of

Good morning, this is your cross-millennial correspondent, Deanna Christiansen, coming to you from New Hampshire, and simultaneously from across 2,000 years, give or take, from ancient Jericho, just following the resurrection and ascension of Jesus Christ. This morning we have the unprecedented opportunity to converse with Bartimaeus, once blind, healed, as you will remember, by

Butterflies hear bees Hummingbirds, dragonflies, ants Other butterflies

Haiku Thirty-Two   A light encounter Butterfly leaves airily Heavy, I remain

Sun-shower at dusk Dragonflies hunt mosquitos Hushed mid-August heat

Six little boats rest. Wind shifts, they circle moorings. One hides behind house.   —John Eddy Christiansen