Born in All Things

The dog has its say, the crickets flit their scratch and my prayer lifts man’s noise to a machine of steel teeth clacking over the Heart(H) of Creation.

Is there truly a choice? There are no choices, save for that of steward. How do we imagine we’ll convince her otherwise? We have forgotten to pray to her, to recall the eartH’s hold on us, her loving sphere waiting on the goodness born in all things to bloom to its fullness.

Tick tock…

© 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark and Michelle Prime


Popular Peace

It Is Love, No?

To My Lovely Love...

Through My Hands

Remembering My Lessons

Dearest Love, Please Forgive Me