by Deb Farris | Feb 8, 2018 | Musings
Sounds like you’re in Dallas. Are you coming or going? my husband texted. I had to smile at that. Coming, I wrote back. They’re waiting for a place to park the plane. I snapped a photo from the window to send to him. Hurry! Hurry? I glanced at my phone. I...
by Deb Farris | Feb 4, 2018 | Devotions
What of this travel up rocky terrain, storms pushing against us? Pilot dips the nose of plane, so tuck your chin against the winds and like a bird rise to unexpected heights of Beauty Photo credit: Roya Ann Miller
by Deb Farris | Jan 30, 2018 | Musings
You walked with me that day even though you had a blister covering the corner of your heel from our hike the day before. The Tucson sun beat down on the exposed skin of your neck and calves, turning them pink even though you took extra care with the sunscreen. But the...
by Deb Farris | Jan 26, 2018 | Musings
Old white van parked on the roadside, mud speckled in snow. Marble streaks and tire tracks from window frame could be a photograph. Consider miles traveled through rain and ice, her engine puttering sparks of life as shiny sedans and semi road hogs blast their horns....
by Deb Farris | Jan 23, 2018 | Musings
From kitchen window broom stands against garage door, askew. What lies beyond the door of this day—off center, all lopsided and cockeyed? I rinse my cup and listen to water rushing from the faucet through my fingers. Cup shines. What can bear a stain? Day unfolds in...
