I am Charlie Kirk
Tag Archives: Christian Women
About This Cat
Miss Bossy Pants climbs onto my stomach, sits her bottom on top of my left forearm and softly chews at my zipper. It is cool, 61 degrees inside this house and 38 outside. The season is slowly changing. I like the gentle easing into a new season. In Arkansas a string of freezing October nightsContinue reading “About This Cat”
Sweet Things
When happy seems just out of reach and life seems bare of benefits, chase sweet things. When what you had slipped far away, dreams replaced….reality, when what you’d lost is what you see, chase sweet things. A lazy day in a wood canoe, catching blue eyes across a room, talks that cause a love toContinue reading “Sweet Things”
A Farm Forum
A farm forum, ready to convene just for me. A choir of frogs sing praise from a small pond out back in the middle of February. They pass their invitation to join the preliminaries of song; their funny prelude to the discussion– the discovery. A surging within the forum of fields and yards tucked roundContinue reading “A Farm Forum”
Cultivated Here
Please play the music that is as much a part of the story as the paragraphs below. 🙂 I hung an old sign that I made in another time and another place. It caught up with me here on N 3rd in a box of things when someone sat it on my front porch; someContinue reading “Cultivated Here”
Journal in the Raw
The journal on the couch next to me here is bulging, as per usual, with scribbles, notes, feelings, complaints, laments, swells of happy, joyous, miserable, unmanageable life. I never fix it up. I want to remember my days however they are, however they feel. I don’t make my journal palatable for anyone else because itContinue reading “Journal in the Raw”
Hinterhaus to Home
A house is a shelter, a place to lay down and sleep. It’s a place to eat a meal and have a conversation if you are so inclined. A house has been a blessing, a rescue and a refuge to me when I needed a place to go, but a house is not a “home”.Continue reading “Hinterhaus to Home”
Tracing Lines
Looking out the window, I knew the air was still because the morning rain made long, straight lines stringing to the ground in the yard. As they freshly
How ’bout the Mountains
And I have found that dogma bites at a wounded spirit, offering no relief and no escape. And a rule looks for its martyr for which to chain — its compass to live by is unkind.
For the Birds
But what about the birds? Maybe they are a foretaste–an enticing first portion of a meal one is being prepared for in heart lest I might be fainted away at the full course.
Hinterhaus Journal 