Lesley-Anne Evans's Blog (6)

I saw it clearly as I let my eyes linger -- something there just beyond the obvious and, like a trout hovering while the fly is cast and insistently played upon the surface of the pond, I felt it drawing me words forming on my silent lips as God spoke poem into existence and I, taking the barb-less hook swallowed deeply. Lesley-Anne Evans 07/04/2009 *Selected as a Jewel in the Faithwriter's Jewel Chest Continue

I tried to help you see how words feel. I said them out loud to you slowly, and pronounced each syllable carefully. Listen, I said, can you hear feelings in these words, …“his voice fell, like drops of cool water, into the silence” You looked at me innocently and smiled. What does water have to do with silence, you said? But don’t you think it’s a beautiful image that these words create, I said, like how the drops cause the water to ripple outward mirroring the sound of his voice speaking fi… Continue

How much easier it is to have virtual relationships than those you have to look in the eye. No demands for attention aside from the ocassional bling of incoming mail. Just say enough to be interesting in a vaguely engaged way, and log off before you get drawn in too deep. Lesley-Anne Evans Feb. 2009 Continue

Over and over I drag it up and lay it down only to pick it up again, and here I am, ashamed, hooked in, co-dependant. Laying my Isaac down sounds so noble, honourable, but with coals glowing hot on the altar, my greedy fingers reach out to snatch back the sacrifice. I convince myself of another way, with another lamb, 'cause this one is virtually unblemished and strangely precious. Somehow larger than life. And although I know a higher holier way waits on the other side of the flames, I choos… Continue

She defines a small space really -- a brown speckled bump on the solid yellow line of Gordon Drive. Feather’s ruffled by intent mini-vans and self-focused lives, her expiration date is blessedly past. They say mallards mate once, for life, and I wonder… what will he think when she doesn’t come home for dinner? Continue

Treetop sojourner -- feather’s ruffled against the early morning chill. Expectant sentinal over earthly offerings that scurry in frosted stubble. I wait and watch as hunger takes flight. Deadly beauty circles heavy over me and life ends within a sweep of un-gleaned grain. Lesley-Anne Evans 06/02/2009 copyright Continue