We sped along the highway,

Headlights slicing through the dark.

You placed your hand at your side,

I held the wheel in silence,

Patterns of ice spreading at the edges of the windshield,

The defrost sighing on the dash.

I wanted to look over to you

And love you all over again,

Pull you close on the bridge

And kiss above the water

Far from this hanging night

Hovering over you and I

In our separate cars, driving to different houses.

Thank You

screen-shot-2017-01-21-at-4-29-42-pmThank you to everyone who attended the event last night for the official release of The Cardinal Turns the Corner! It was an extraordinary evening, and I could not be more grateful to everyone for their kind words and generous support.

Thank you, also, to all of you who, over the past several months, encouraged and promoted the project, both in person and online, as it came together. I am truly overwhelmed by your graciousness and enthusiasm.

So now, The Cardinal Turns the Corner is officially available for purchase through a number of different outlets. You may purchase a copy online at Amazon or Barnes and Noble or, if you’re local (i.e., Atlanta), you can buy a copy directly from me. All proceeds will continue to go to Curing Kids Cancer.

From now on, links to purchase the book will also be included in the “Purchase My Book” page at the top of this website.

So again, thank you so much! I love you all.

Tea Party

This morning, I bit into a plastic slice of watermelon

Prepared by my daughter

Along with some hard toast and make-believe jam,

A small snack upstairs in the playroom.


She laughed as the pretend juice dribbled down my throat,

And, thanking her for her gift, I reached for a blue pail,

A fitting receptacle for imaginary seeds.


What caught my eye were the thousand spots of confetti

We dreamed up all around

As we looked toward the ceiling for invisible balloons

And the clouds that wished for them.


But then, she grabbed the blanket from her bed

And billowed it to the carpet

Where we sat together for a picnic and, later, an elegant tea party,

One in which she and I planned the rest of the day

Over our warm cups of thin air.


Before the sun rose this morning, I left my coffee cup

On the table next to the vase of flowers

And pulled a chair around to the far side near the window.


I brushed aside the still air of early kitchen light

And lifted myself up, towering toward the ceiling,

To unspine the batteries from the clock on the wall.


I wanted to place them next to one of your drawings,

The one with purple and blue marker on yellow paper

In which you carefully illustrated your little world


Filled with sunshine and letters of the alphabet,

A summer sky hovering above

Your endless fields of doodling.


You told me it reminded you of Blueberry Mash Hill,

That fantastic landscape of games and laughter you climb

On every walk we take around the neighborhood,


Or Apple Hill, the other street that bends toward the cul-de-sac,

Perhaps even Strawberry Hill, the one with the sharp incline

Followed by a spectacular view of the clouds.


But as the sunlight began to trickle through the window

And illuminate the hills of your imagination,

I laid the pages back on the table


And glanced at the pair of batteries,

Rolling lazily along the wooden surface,

Disregarding my attempt to freeze this moment in time


As I can just detect your small voice

Calling out from the top of the stairs,

Ready for another day of constant and beautiful growing.