Author Archives: Ken Greenman

The future is not unknowable darkness. It is a question mark, curving back to now, to us, to me, to prayers prayed, decisions decided, moves made, on life’s inscrutable chess board. Then the curve of the question mark bends back … Continue reading →

Latino migrant workers mow the lanes between the trees, the blossoms are past, apples just beginning to appear. An early morning yellow school bus rolls down the orchard road, carrying the kids to another day. I drive the old route, … Continue reading →

A lawn of lions, yellow, with teeth, devouring what little grass is left. I like them. If my lawn wasn’t yellow, it would be scrub and brown dirt. The yellow will, eventually, morph to jagged green leaves. Let ’em. A … Continue reading →

Shabboth Shalom, a calm soul, the still, soft voice whispers in my heart. A sense of liquid holiness. A baptism into eons to come. Today, of all days, a glimpse of eternity, a gift from the heart of Divinity.

Consider the flea, the honey bee, the black capped chickadee, or, sadly, the Booby. Each has no more priority to Thee than aging, balding me.

He is a crayola crayon kid in a black ink Bic Pen world. What fun it was to print the long, colored sentence, “I HAVE TO PEE EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!” in wonderful shades of sunflower, darkening to canary! His welder, bow hunter … Continue reading →

Pastor Wil’s wife, Mary, wandered off on a Wednesday through that veil between here and there. She was 90 and ready. He is 92 and not, While I sat with him at her wake that day, he sighed, smiled, wiped … Continue reading →

I remember him in my class where he drove me crazy, and managed to pass. I sit at his wake, from which he will not, until. I wait for answers which will not come, until. How to grade a life? … Continue reading →

Fashion a fabric, magic in the weave, fibers woven with alchemy. Wool for warmth. Linen for comfort. Cashmere for luxury. Silk for sex. Measure your bodies, yours, your other. Measure again for certainty. Cut once for perfect fit. Sew with … Continue reading →

Up the dusty dirt road, the tramp trudged on and on and on. Pains in his legs, a broken oaken oar to steady his limp. It had been life times since he took the Journey down this road, his stride, … Continue reading →