Autumn has turned its leaves into wine. Aged with wooden vines, flavored with cedar and pine. Morning dew beads the autumn vines, where buried roots drink and intertwine. Pine needles fall where old tree branches, rot. Cold mornings smell of earthworms and wet rocks. Though the creek is shallow, she’s still holding her breath. The moths grow weak and weary searching for death. The cold beckons seclusion, year after year, as I draw inward, God warms up my tears. Words, like ri

There are days that I’m good at letting You know how trusting in You I am. Some days I feel You so close that my heart burns as You talk...

This is a secret place prayer.

Adam and Eve started our story, Though first to live, they were also first to sin.

And you stay when my thoughts spill like vomit on the ground, when my tears get heavy and fog the room all around. When I damage my...

I am but a molecule, a speck of ash that could dissipate if I were to compare my existence to what little I can imagine of His. I live in...