Reflection A Few Steps Upward

Two Peaks

What field has flattened your way,
Clouded your minds horizon, made silent the whispers of your ambition?

A tremendous project at work?
The uprooting of your family?
The wellness of one that you love?

What two bright, peaks can you see in the distance? You must see them; for we do not travel an endless plain.

Name them, and they will rise up before you.
What encouragement may you claim, as your steps turn upward?


Bill Hudson   # June 16, 2017 : COMMENTS ( 0 )




Reflection Growing Into a Name

Emme Claire

She arrived to awaken beauty in the world, while she had not a name.
Leaving for the hospital, the rose bush on the back fence held little more than green, thorny stalks.

Three days later I am graced by bright, fuchsia roses; as they call to me through the kitchen window.
Standing here, I warm a bottle; nourishment for a delicate flower that brings color into my world.

As parents, we feel it is our duty to adorn our children with uniquely beautiful names.
As our children grow into that name, we ask how they could have held any other.

I am wondering now: that perhaps, not only do our children grow into their names
But, are their names growing into them as well?

A name, then, is a sepal of support fostering a nameless bloom;
A shelter, gentle in revealing shy petals that open only slowly before our eyes.

In this way, a child's name becomes even more beautiful as our little ones awaken into the world;
Clothed in the great affection of the syllables we have chosen to embrace them.

We begin to say their names with so much care.

Staring out a different window, I see floral visions of yellow, orange, red and deep purple:
Forsythia, Marigold, Tulip, and Iris.

Though, I would like to believe that my children have awakened these blossoms, it is far more likely that- like their names- these flowers and my children grow in support of one another.

Both may grow just as well un-named; the flowers and our children.
Names, though, allow us to more deeply grasp the wild essence of mysteries that are not so simply beheld.

Welcome to this world Emme Claire.
I encounter your beauty every day, when it seems, I have seen you again for the first time.


Bill Hudson   # May 25, 2016 : COMMENTS ( 0 )




Reflection A Visitation of Possibility

Tea for Two

Song birds twitter in expectation from their high places in the eaves,
as possibility draws near.

The night turns it's gradual corner
inviting into it's care an awaited guest, of light.

When sitting to entertain Possibility the curtains must first be drawn.
For, in the dark, how is one to witness the form of it's void?

If I wait, now, and only half-fill the cup before me
what other visitors may this day bring to my door?

Dark is the house.
Light is the guest.
And Sunrise is the conversation in which they meet.

Bill Hudson   # April 5, 2016 : COMMENTS ( 0 )




Reflection I Hear Clocks Ticking

My Quiet Soul

I hear clocks ticking;
asynchronous rhythms fusing together the quiet of three empty rooms.

The walls have no memory;
they forget the activity and rambunctious squeals that have filled them...
and that will fill them later this afternoon.

Or, perhaps, the rooms are only resting; like I do now;
reveling in the vacant spaces between the turning.. of the wheels.. of the clock.

My home is only a house right now.
In the silence I am able to become single-minded;
focusing on replenishment of what the demands of the day are likely to drain from me.

Second by second, I am filled.
Every drop that drips, from the hand of the clock, ripples and then stills the disquiet of my quiet soul.

Bill Hudson   # April 5, 2016 : COMMENTS ( 0 )




Reflection Through an Air-bus Window

Dark City Lights

Under the dark, city lights
the white stars are distant and vague.

The only exceptions are those metallic "shooting-stars";
moving against the current of the clouds.
In flashes they blink: red green red

Look at me, fast, with me
voice their flashing beacons; each reveal the shadow of a wing.
Harsh-lights drawing attention to faint figures trailed by empty, un-answerable roars.

What if we were we to dim our city lights?
Would we see against the black pupils of an air-bus window:
the white of the stars in the eyes of travelers; wide awake on a red-eye flight?

And looking up from our place, here, on the ground
what might our eyes say to one another...
if our thoughts so easily became words?

Bill Hudson   # April 5, 2016 : COMMENTS ( 0 )