Category: Reflections

“Light In Our Dwellings”

Night Cabin by Andrey Golubev
Melodies kindled by hearth fires:
the refrigerator murmurs like a cello
in concert with the clanging cymbals of platters,
the violin strings of scarlet wine,
the oboe winds that scatter the leftover
crumbs of bread —

Supper flames are quenched,
night deepens towards the precipice of dawn,
outside the window
the eyelids of frozen branches close,
await the feeble warmth of winter morning.

Foxes have holes,
the graceful gazelle runs homeward
to the ebony forest,
egrets fly to their nests in the fir trees,
the mountain goats climb to their high places.

Praise, praise,
for the laughter of light in our dwellings,
the crimson fire of corpuscles pulsating
with the pendulum of time —

Praise, praise to Thee,
O Giver of Light and Life,
O Source of Strength and Joy.

D. G. Vachal © 2014

*** Photography Credit: “Night Cabin” by Andrey Golubev

“Winter Interim of the Heart”

by Eugene Dudarev
There is a winter interim of the heart
when a million white butterflies descend
from ripened cocoons in the sky,
soundless wings flutter,
cluster into spools of wool
for the weaving loom.

Surrounded by the starkness of white
you search for rainbow colors
only to find an empty, outstretched
canvas upon the easel,
an artist’s paintbrush, a pail of gesso,
your naked hands.

There is a winter interim of the heart,
a jagged juncture of time when you discard
easel and paintbrush,
for the weaving of wool,
the molding of sculptures
steadfast in the evanescent snow.

by D. G. Vachal © 2014

*** Photography by Eugene Dudarev

“Once Before”

Reflect by Mikhail Tkachev
I stood here once before
on this waltzing floor
deserted by the petals —

upon the frockless windows
zirconias congregate in constellation
patterns,
beyond the glass the skeletal
boughs bend
with the watchet wind.

the balance sheet bleeds white
as yesterday’s snow,  air-crisp
against the seeping eastern light —

reluctant legs lunge
from the starting line
once again.

D. G. Vachal © 2014

*** Photography: Reflect by Mikhail Tkachev

“The Riches of the Poor”

woman with parasol
The Riches of the Poor

In the midst of their calamity, they managed to smile. There was an unexplainable calm and peace upon their faces as they fell patiently in line, awaiting their turn to receive water, rice and canned goods.  There was no noise, no panic, nor distress.

They had little to start with, and the little they had, they lost.  They lived in palm-roofed huts that were blown away, and now they huddle under tents of tarpaulin held up by wooden planks. When the rains revisit at night, the fathers and mothers sit in the rain, while their little ones sleep under the sparse canopies.  Help has been slow to arrive. Meek as sheep, they do not grumble. They wait.

A woman who stepped on a nail while braving the typhoon, walked many miles under scorching heat to where relief goods were distributed.  Her foot throbbed with pain as she approached my daughter and me, and she held out her parasol to shield us from the sun.  Other women joined us and offered their parasols as well. They told us they had little to eat, and when the relief supplies run out, they will share what remains with each other. Their sun-parched, emaciated faces somehow reflected an inner joy.

At that moment, I recognized the palpable wealth of the poor: they who possess little do not own the onerous burden of the “cares of this world, the deceitfulness of riches, and the lusts of other things entering in” 1.  I felt the light-hearted freedom in their hearts, the natural sensitivity to gravitate towards gratitude, as the flowers of the field blossom, facing the sun.

As the nail that pierced the woman with the parasol, so has her countenance, along with the many other tranquil faces around her, wounded and scarred my heart forever, that noonday under the sun.

“Listen, my beloved brothers, has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom, which He has promised to those who love Him?” James 2:5 ESV

D. G. Vachal © 2013

1 Mark 4:19

*** Photography courtesy of Amy Lynn Vachal