Of Dirt And Sun

I am rugged and worn, like the beam stuck hearth, 

A splinter-man, I cut and dig, 

And you, my surface. 

Finger the print, time's mark upon my age and see

The acorn-me, my form and twig, 

And you, my warmth. 

I try to incarnate the me, neath dirt and root and scree, 

To dull the splinter touch, to smooth the ragged rough of me. 

For the cold taught me warmth,

The dark, how to push,

Toward the whistling light breaking through, 

Toward, upward, further, still. 

Until I crack the the black horizon 

And spill, 

Into the flooding wave of you; 

Brave for the journey, 

Strong to withstand, 

Gloried by affection, 

A holy land. 





Timothy Willard loves to sit with his wife by the bonfire and make up stories about Tom the Backyard-Badger for his three lovely daughters. When he's not carving up the Appalachian Mountains on his Salsa El Mariachi, you can find him busy writing a book, collaborating on a book, or reading a book written by someone dead and gone. Timothy studied beauty in the works of C.S. Lewis under theologian Alister McGrath. The author of five books, including Veneer: Living Deeply in a Surface Society (Zondervan), Timothy is currently finishing The Life-Changing Adventure of Chasing Beauty (Eerdmans, 2019), preparing his doctoral thesis for publication, and trying to find a publisher for his first novel The Tempest and the Bloom. He lives somewhere in the south Charlotte woods.