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.

Left Behind

“Every moment of this strange and lovely life from dawn to dusk is a miracle. 

Somewhere, always, a rose is opening its petals to the dawn. 

Somewhere, always, a flower is fading in the dusk.” 

 Beverly Nichols


Left Behind
by Elece Hollis
I love to find the spaces where the flowers bloom and grow,
Places where once frame houses stood … abandoned long ago.
I love to see the trees strong standing like sentinels on the land;
To think of the generations these farms and orchards spanned.
I love to think in years gone by—sweet on a springtime day,
Long before the family changed and faded soft away,
A housewife knelt with flower bulbs, a garden trowel in her hand,
Turned back the dirt and snugged each bulb like a promise to the land.
She watched them sprout each springtime—watched them bloom in time;
She knew they’d make the heart glad … like God’s poetry and rhyme.
Pink hyacinths, dancing iris, bright sunny daffodils,
Come suddenly through the brown loam of winter’s dreary chills.
Through many years of happiness, perhaps a few of woe,
Those flowers sprout back up again when soft spring breezes blow.
They push up through life’s seasons. They speak of days gone by,
Of births, of deaths, marriages, moves—changes the blossoms belie.
One day the house stood empty, one day the roof would fall,
But those flowers would come for decades—legacies outlasting all.
When houses and barns decay and fall, and fences totter and lean
The soil reclaims its expanses, but time winks his eye at these.
A good man leaves an inheritance for his Children’s children…
Proverbs 13:22

Helen Steiner Rice poetry with devotions by Elece Hollis

Meeting Morning

Weeping may endure for a night but joy comes in the morning.
Psalm 30:5

A garden plot’s a healing spot.
 I know the feel of sod
Was my mother’s way to say,
 “I’ve touched a bit of God.”
 June Masters Bacher

As the years pass, I am coming more and more to understand
 that it is the common everyday blessings 
of our common everyday lives
 for which we should be particularly grateful.
Laura Ingalls Wilder
In the Morning
By Elece Hollis

I meet God in the morning 
when the dew is on the grass
When the sun has just come up 
And a soft breeze trundles past.

I meet Him in the quiet spot 
Beside the garden gate
While the birds come singing-winging,
 He arrives; He’s never late.

I meet Him in the garden rows
 He sends a butterfly to kiss
My shoulder or my hair, my face
 A dew-new greeting I must not miss.

I meet Him as I kneel down
 Plucking peas and pulling weeds
He meets me there and touches me.
 With simple peace, He meets my needs.

I meet God in the morning
He goes with me through the day
 I thank Him for the joy and love
He gifts me with along life’s way.

Have you noticed how many of the flowers and trees have heart-shaped leaves? Could it be that God is saying, “Hey there, somebody loves you!”
C.E. Hollis

The quest for a simpler life is in itself
 an infinite journey toward God.
Wanda Urbanska


©2014 Elece Hollis, author of Limitless Grace,  available  at Mardel’s or on Amazon http://amzn.to/1uEcfUM
If you would like to leave a comment. Click on “comments” or “no comments” below and tell me which of these photos you like best and why?
Please follow me on this once-a-week blog of home grown poetry and photography and don’t miss Totally Tuesday.

Far from Home

Sycamore leaf
Far flung from home
Alone now,
Without your kin,
Among strangers.
Free at last, you roam.
Caught, not by binding stem
To the home tree;
Caught in a new place
Low in the lowly grasses.
Sights are foreign.
Life is crowded still.
You fluttered before;
Fought furiously
Fought free; 
But you didn’t know 
How to fly.
Come rest against 
The wall, the house, 
The garden gate
‘Till you find family again.