Paintbrushes

Indian Paintbrushes Blooming

Of A Summer Morning

 By Elece Hollis

Out in the fields where meadowlark goes,

Bright paintbrushes stand on the tips of their toes.

Butterflies––yellow ones, white, orange, and black

Weave melodies over the grasses and back.

 

Out in the woods where the tanager sings

Luna moth travels on gossamer wings.

Timid mouse peeps from his leafy retreat

Looking for wild winterberries to eat.

 

Down by the swift river’s warm sandy shore,

Sandpipers skitter about to explore.

Waterbugs dart across sparkling blue

Where sunlight reflects the skys silvery hue.

 

Deep in the forest’s cool shadowy rooms,

Mosses cling staunchly to fallen tree tombs.

Gray squirrels hold conference on nutting technique

With Jack-in-his-pulpit preparing to speak.

 

Out in the pasture where cows gentle graze,

White egrets stalk silently through summer days.

Grasshoppers balance––on hot grasses sway

To the melodies blackbirds and barbed wire play.

day one

day one

by elece hollis

the unflolding, the beginning,

 the opening, the start, the budding,

the unfurling, the uncurling,

the blooming, the unveiling,

the commencement, embarking,

the birthing, the dawning,

the onset, the outset, the springing,

the up-and-coming!

 

PicMonkey Photo-2

Frosty Letters

Frost edges every blade of grass;
Freezes it into a fairyland of white,
But the oak is only beginning to drop her sculpted leaves
Drop them like handwritten letters from spring
When they first popped from buds and began growing,
When they loaded the tree with leathery green
From summer when they shaded the children playing,
When a circle of day lilies circled the tree,
From autumn when they flew like flags
When we first noticed them begin to turn brown
When they rattled and fluttered and shook in the wind.
Frost trims each letter in fragile lace
Each letter has a message to deliver to winter
A letter of seasons and hope, change, and promise.

The Doorway

The Doorway

By Elece Hollis

Stand awhile and study

Each door that faces you;

Listen just a little

To the voices coming through.

Watch who passes in before,

See who passes back too.

Find out where the door may lead;

Ask their advice–please do.

Seek the mind of Jesus

Let Him guide you true,

For all the doors that open

There will not be a few,

Will change your life forever,

Determine what you’ll do,

Who’ll you become, whose life you’ll touch

Boldly step on through!

fullsizeoutput_7accChristmas Cactus

 By Elece Hollis

She’s called a cactus––but has no spines;

She speaks between her graceful lines.

She isn’t fir or coned´pine.

At Christmas time.

 

She isn’t Poinsettia bright

Not Amaryllis––that’s alright!

 She bows her head––shy––out of sight

At Christmas time.

 

She brightens up the room each year;

Comes to bring us all good cheer.

I count her blossoming quite dear

At Christmas time.

 

 

 

Scarred but Beautiful

 

IMG_2047“We all have our scars––most gained by foolishness,

but the ones that count come from putting another’s safety above our own.” c.e.hollis

 

 The Shape of Us

By Elece Hollis

Every leaf on every tree, every plant and flower bears its unique difference and yet is recognizable. With the help of a field guide to trees, we can tell most any tree by its leaf. These leaves are begonia––each alike, and yet each possessing a set of unique characteristics. Look at  them––the veins, the colors, the edges, and the tears.

Every leaf is an individual of the plant colored by its soil and nutrients, healthy or pale, large or small, and each bears eventually some scars. We tend to want every leaf to be perfect and fit. We tend to call out for the boldest, the softest, the youngest, the straightest, the curviest. We tend to call beautiful what is the brightest, the slightest, the largest, the smallest (hypocrites we).

We call the finest and prettiest what has the least blemishes, the smallest and faintest scars. We don’t like our scars, our wrinkles, our gray hairs, our freckles. Oh, but aren’t they what makes us who we are? Don’t they show how much life we have experienced?

Jesus chose to keep his scars. His hands still have the marks where the nails were hammered through. Those scars are beautiful. True, many of our scars are there because we did foolish things or because another hurt us. Jesus’s scars are there because He loved us so. It’s the same love that chose to create each of us an original, each shape of us unique, and all of nature touched with the lovely essence of his hand.