by Deb Farris | Jun 12, 2021 | Memoir
morning, where are you? seeds of youth now buried deep, fed by soil still– … streams of light at dawn, from darkness comes your brilliance, nourishing your growth. … cast not a shadow of unrest, but protecting, till your faith takes hold. …...
by Deb Farris | Mar 27, 2020 | Devotions
They walked on the shoreline of La Saladita and she said she needed a coconut shell to carry the treasures she was collecting. Before she had even finished the sentence, she could feel his eyes roaming the sand. He found one within minutes and smashed it against a...
by Deb Farris | Dec 14, 2019 | Devotions
Day 13 Advent Calendar Poetry in Motion Thirsty shores quenched by laughing, lapping waves. Sky wrinkled from a long night’s work. Dark clouds, weighty cloaks, revealing pockets full of mystery. Against the somber waters, wings of hope appear overhead and her eyes can...
by Deb Farris | Mar 22, 2019 | Travels
Who can turn off the moon or flip off the starlight? Not you. Not I. We are who the sky invites to sit beneath its vast canopy and rest within the moon’s light or beneath the sun as it traverses across this great field of a sky And we are where the salty sea...
by Deb Farris | Oct 19, 2018 | Memoir, Musings, Poetry
I think the pumpkins are going to make it this year. There must be enough in the neighborhood to keep the squirrels eating courses, traveling from house to house like we’ve always wanted to do ourselves: first course at Winnie’s, second at Connelly’s , third at...
