Author Archives: Ken Greenman

The peace of an early school morning. The halls are still, the bells, silent. The calm before the storm. I love the extremes, the peace and the storm. The former is readiness for learning, the latter, wrestling with the change. … Continue reading →

The appeal of the orange is to discover beneath the rind the sweet and health within. The wonder of the apple is the variety of shades scarlet red to dapple. So it is with students, a mixed and crazy crowd, … Continue reading →

Auchwitz ovens consume not only Jewish wood. We are all kin to or kindling for the igniter of the flames. A different decade, my feet shuffle down the ramp, joining the dirge of the doomed. A slight change in tempo, … Continue reading →

All life ends with tears of sorrow, perhaps, or with the deep satisfaction of the fortunate, with soul deep sighs for all joys: kisses; springs; winter wonders; leaf fall; summer rain birth pain; forgiveness (for evils done with or without … Continue reading →

How weak how foggy how fluid how fragile the wall between hurt and healed how ephemeral is normal insanity a matter of degree stability a dollop of drug hope a held hand owning the chinks in our own armor creates … Continue reading →

God, who is everywhere and within, whose every name is holy, whose kingdom is, whose will is, thanks for each days needs, fulfilled or not, help us to forgive us for our sins for you are forgiving us always, lead … Continue reading →

Two grand trees stand near each other in our woods. One is elm, split base, long branches, trunks, more like, squirrels home in its hollows, chipmunks burrow in its roots. Across the narrow creek between, the other, a maple, single … Continue reading →

Johnny Mac was fourteen carrot Irish, orange-red hair, brown freckles. Skin, scorched nearly pink, by summers sun. Five years older than me, maybe more. I would never know. We could be buddies though, because, as my mother later whispered, Johnny … Continue reading →

That there is chaos does not mean there is no order. That the merlin mangles dove, his talons cracking neck and breast while doves heart still beats and brain knows does not mean Order is not prompting from the wings, … Continue reading →

My Father sang his songs to me, but I, for so long deaf, heard his melodies and words only a decade before he died. So, I had, instead of sixty, rather ten years to learn how to sing our songs … Continue reading →