Tag Archives: Window

Mr. Tree Frog

Hello Mr. Tree Frog

clinging to my window dearly

drawn to the moths that are drawn by my light


I watch you move and beat on my glass pane

pale body against a dark chest

and an even darker sky


No princess and the frog here

no kiss for you and no prince for me

especially after you just ate that moth

drawn by my light


Good night Mr. Tree Frog

clinging to my window dearly

drawn to the moths that are drawn by my light



It Was Written In the Sky

On a long bus ride, I was reading Ray Bradbury’s novel Fahrenheit 451 over again. I can tell how good of a book it is by how much it has impacted me. This is going to be my fourth post inspired by it. Few books do that, where you read it and instead of wanting to just devour more of its glorious ink marks on tree pulp that was inspired by life itself, you want to compile the building thoughts from the novel and write about it.

But this time instead of applying a truth learned, I wish to write how I came upon the truth.

So there I was on the ten hour bus ride with 33 high school students who smelled like peanut butter and too much cologne. Did I mention that it was a ten hour bus ride? I think I did, but I’ll say it again, a ten hour bus ride . . .

With a book in my face and head phones (or should I say “Seashells”?) turned up loud playing Beethoven, I tried to block out the rap music and the girly-girl talk.

Across the country we went, mile after mile, page after page, song after song.

I was looking for wisdom and wonder in between the lines of a 63 year old book. Trying to block out the youthful folly around me.

Coming to one of the quotes from other books, I search for the quote on Google. While it loads, I look up.

So focused I had been on the book and on the teenagers that I tried to block out, that I had blocked out what had been transforming around me. Winter dreariness with bald trees and fallow fields, had been transformed to spring animation with blooming trees and sowed fields.

So focused on the inside, I had not looked outside. I had only seen one option, and by my lack of observation, I had deprived myself of choice.

In trying to find wisdom I originally looked to a book, and forgot the world.

What I was trying to find in a book was already written in the sky, all I had to do was look. Wisdom and wonder and life was written in the sky. No ink or graphite or typewriter or digital “little black box” needed. Only eyes or ears or hands or mouth or nose needed, to understand what was written in the sky.

Oh, how precious are books, yet even more precious are the things that inspire them.

After marveling at what had been out my window all those hours and miles and pages and songs, I looked back at my phone, and of course it was still loading.

I looked back out the window and wanted my phone to keep loading so that I would never have to look away.

“‘It’s not books you need, it’s some the things that once were in books . . . No, no it’s not books at all you’re looking for! Take it where you can find it, in old phonograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself. Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them, at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us.'”

-Page 79 in Fahrenheit 451

My Cracked Bubble


The glass of my bubble cracks

A single impact that I can trace everything back to

I believe the lie that everything is logical

and I can trace events back to a single reason

I run my finger along the edges of the




Of my

Shattered bubble.

The glass in now stained

It makes pretty colors when the sunlight comes in

I just want to crawl up inside myself and be safe

Hug myself tight and not let go

Bring all that I am inward

I want to feel small and

believe that life is simple

I just my world to be safe

I want to glue the pieces of cracked glass

back into my bubble and make sure they never fall on me

I want to take every precaution

So that I have no reason to worry

Now the glass is tinted

Darked from the outside

Hard to see in

No one can see inside my soul

It churns slowly

Almost in a calming way


I can see everything

I can see everyone on the outside

But I am just rolling around in my bubble

Sometimes upside down

Sometimes right side up

I am comfortable here

This is my space

This is where I am

This is home

It is not my safe place

It is not where I am suppose to always be

It is not my prison

It is where I can freak out

It is where I bang on the glass

But not hard enough to break it

But just hard enough to crack a little more

Glass allows us to see out the window

But when the glass breaks don’t think of it

as the world falling down

But instead the window becomes a door.