Scampering around in the grass barefoot, my son suddenly squealed and leapt for the concrete patio. I went to inspect the source of his alarm: a quivering huddle of feathers. He assumed it was dead like another hapless victim, a naked nestling, we found earlier that evening on a nearby rock. But as I knelt…Read more Of Birds and Parenting
Family
Witnesses
A Summer Night at Grandpa's House hot the night air white the hot light dancing in distant moonlit fields drowning in years of gathered emptying skies pouring down our windowpane drumming our whispers into the restless drone of the fan of still musty the dusty presence of settling walls of eyes in photos in every…Read more Witnesses
Do Dogs Go to Heaven?
If dogs wore clothing, Rico would have been a tuxedo-clad gentleman. I'm sure he would have played the saxophone in a jazz band. Rico, a brindle greyhound, came into our lives most unexpectedly. A co-worker rescued him after he retired from racing, but shared her concerns about keeping him in her apartment. My husband and…Read more Do Dogs Go to Heaven?
Summer Has Come
Time and space for painting and writing is scarce this summer. Without accessing those deep creative parts of my being, at times I feel dry and out-of-touch with myself and with God. But I am simultaneously aware that my heart is storing away moments like treasures from a far-away land. Moments in time that, when there…Read more Summer Has Come
For Love of the Game
When the clatter of life presses in, I step through that stadium opening and every worry fades in a sun-wash across my eyes. Like laundry bleached white, the day flaps in the breeze, bright and full of possibility. Rows of metal bleachers guard the perimeter, keeping watch with the outfield fence proclaiming, “Welcome to the friendly confines of…Read more For Love of the Game
The Sky Begins to Dance
mountains ramble into mesas, stepping down to plains, kinked succulents, anchored, release the blinding light of day, reach for pooling pink and orange settle into quiet sleepy soil while the sky begins to dance here, our silvery trail of tears, lament for heavy feet, mooring us to earth there, their finished race - flames the…Read more The Sky Begins to Dance
A Beautiful River in Uganda
As most passengers triumphantly hoisted luggage off the belt, my mom and I watched and waited. Finally with a few lonely bags circling round and round in the increasingly vacated baggage claim, we acknowledged the obvious and filtered over to the airline desk to file our claim. Undaunted, we woke the next morning to the…Read more A Beautiful River in Uganda
Painting a Prayer
I’ll be honest. Prayer is often difficult for me, at least as prayer is traditionally defined – sitting or kneeling and talking to God. A couple main reasons: I am a person of few spoken words, and it’s hard for me to sit still. When I was in my early 20’s, I passed through turbulent waters.…Read more Painting a Prayer
Painting My Gratitude
Early in the morning, before the sun, I rise in a shadowed sleepy house. Shaking dreams from the edges of my mind, I cradle the Book. Eager, expectant, this my most treasured hour. I listen to steady slow breathing, rising from rooms all around. Overcome, my heart swells and overflows. It seeps and fills every…Read more Painting My Gratitude
Footprints of the Unseen
When fire flings its last defiant spark and torrents of leaves crackle with laughter, I wonder if you are dancing on this flaming air? Here, on this hillside of memories, where dreams are laid to rest like carpets of gleaming leaves draped over stones. I am untethered, adrift, lured to the last place you touched. You were…Read more Footprints of the Unseen
Colleen Briggs Images & Writing 