Defenestration

Homeward Bound

In the quiet misty morning when the moon has gone to bed, when the sparrows stop their singing and the sky is clear and red. When the summer’s ceased its gleaming, when the corn is past its prime, when adventure’s lost its meaning, I’ll be homeward bound in time.

Bind me not to the pasture; chain me not to the plow. Set me free to find my calling and I’ll return to you somehow.

If you find it’s me you’re missing, if you’re hoping I’ll return. To your thoughts I’ll soon be listening, in the road I’ll stop and turn. Then the wind will set me racing as my journey nears its end. And the path I’ll be retracing when I’m homeward bound again.

Bind me not to the pasture; chain me not to the plow. Set me free to find my calling and I’ll return to you somehow.

In the quiet misty morning when the moon has gone to bed, When the sparrows stop their singing, I’ll be homeward bound again.

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Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

John McCrae

To Be Like Hyrum

There can only be one Joseph, but we can all be like Hyrum

The Mountains

When a person is in the mountains, the sense of the eternal arises in large part from the separation from the temporal. In the mountains, it may as well be the 1st or the 22nd century, for there are no indicia of time