The Seasons: A Poem

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Sunrise over Amazing Grasses Family Farm The mad Artist wields His brush, Painted colors rush, To life and give flush, Before the quiet autumn hush. The life seems to pour, As colors fall to the floor, To be seen no more, Outside the dark, grey door. Brightness from below, Sun upon the snow, High, cold clouds blow, Flakes and ice appear to grow. The man melts with little seen, Underneath, pale, grey green, Hides life in dark unseen, Waits for warmth and to careen. Buds on branches show, Patience starts to grow, Trickles, streams and veins flow, Bringing fruits of melted snow. Sprung to life it springs, Bees, birds, sound rings, Lush green flings, Its gift bounty brings. Green growth gives one last rush, Underneath the Painter's brush. The mad Artist wields His brush, before the quiet autumn hush. More poetry is available from James M. Hahn in  The Last Dragon and Other Poems  available now. My new book of cryptogram puzzles " Secret Messages from the Saints " is avai
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Cabin Fever

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With the frigid temperatures (we had 14 below last night) we've been forced to stay indoors. Lucky for the boys dad doesn't have to work when there's no school.


Today we took a bunch of boxes (we run a Catholic bookstore in our basement and a traveling store as well) and built the castle you see here. It held up pretty well until dad brought in the canon (riding toy and balls). The castle was rebuilt many times but in the end we took some of the smaller boxes and cut holes etc., making small castles for the action figures to defend and such.


This is picture Anthony took. It turned out pretty well. It was much better than the picture of the computer screen, a ballon, a broken sword, and a shoe.

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