January 31: All That Remains

All that remains of six weeks of harsh winter are scattered dirty white piles as light rain washes away snow and memories of sledding, shoveling, scraping and slipping, of holiday hearth fires and matching pajamas. Gray descends, turning earth and hearts dully muddy as February lurks.

January 30: Clouds Moving

Tilting my gaze upward, searching for words, I find

instead cirrocumulus clouds drifting right to left

high across the morning’s deepening blue sky, as if

painted on an enormous scroll unspooling,

turned by an invisible hand or engine and just now

growing wispier and slower as a jet’s contrail forms, moving 

like a shooting star and disappearing below the rooftops. 

January 29: Old Bones

Spring-like sun suddenly makes an appearance this morning,

shining through the dirty dusty window, a bright beam illuminating

this dog beside me, who will follow the light for hours, warming

old bones, radiating creaturely comfort and peace so beautifully,

while I chase my tail all day long, longing for what is here already.

January 28: Mere Noise

Mere noise and chatter everywhere confound, confuse

And overwhelm each thought that longs to be made known,

Each feeling striving to transform within like seed 

Sown deep in sleeping earth disturbed by wrecking crews.

Oh, how I love this dog who sleeps beside me now,

Sweetly, softly, in life-restoring companionable silence!

January 27: These Times

In these times when power is idolized,

when mercy and compassion are sins,

when bluster is valued over substance,

when grace and beauty are scorned,

when fear is the lingua franca and 

contempt is the coin of the realm—

in these trying times, we must sing! 

January 26: Love Compassion Justice Prayer

In a time of fear, we turn to love 

that we might open up rather than close down,

that we might reach out rather give in, 

that we might sing rather than whimper.

In a time of loathing, we turn to compassion 

that we might better understand,

that we might better sense and feel 

and experience what others experience.

In a time of inequity, we turn to justice 

that we might restore balance,

that we might repair harm, 

that we might make whole that which is broken.

We pause now to consider love, compassion and justice

in the face of fear, loathing and inequity.

May love be our light.

May compassion be our companion.

And may justice be our guide.

Now and always, Amen!

January 25: Lumbar Support

Evidence of my old age arrived in the form

of a reclining chair that sits near the fireplace,

beckoning with its plush soft comfort and

lumbar support I didn’t know I needed.

Last night as I began to nod off while watching

television, it occurred to me that someday

I might die in this chair and that there certainly

are worse ways to go. But not today, death.

January 24: Taunting Despair

What a cruel world, with death round every corner,
Dissolution, destruction, utter annihilation looming.
No good can come from this moment, any moment.
Yet inexplicably good exists, taunting my despair.
My mind knows all is lost but my heart still finds joy.

January 23: Sunshine Cannot Melt

Even today’s bright sunshine cannot melt the ice

accumulated during this prolonged subzero spell.

Still, as pipes freeze and winds cut through layers

upon layers of clothing, it is good to see the light!

January 22: Opening Amid Closing

Opening amid closing shall be our work now,

Opening hearts to love and loss, fear and joy,

Opening minds to learning and unlearning,

Opening senses to loud thud and soft gleam,

Opening arms to embracing and uplifting,

Opening doors to everyone who is shut out,

Opening every single closed and narrow thing.

January 21: One Day at a Time

One day at a time, one

day at a time, one day

at a time, one day at 

a time, one day at a 

time, one day at a time.

January 20: Finite Disappointment

If King was right that we must accept finite 

disappointment but never lose infinite hope,

what then shall we do on this day when

greatness remembered seemes eclipsed

by infamy and ignominy in ascendance?

Accepting deepest disappointment, we must 

act in ways that make sense in the faith that 

infinite hope might make itself known.

January 19: Hope Prayer

Let us pause to consider the possibility of hope in a time of despair,

To consider how our lives are shaped not just by the reality of loss

But also by the glimmer of hope that others hold for us even

when we cannot hold it for ourselves, cannot sense it for ourselves.

Let us pause to consider hope not as a precondition for action

But as a consequence of action, of doing the next right thing,

Of living our lives as if there were something larger than ourselves

Alone, even when we have no sense of what that something might be

Or why it proves so elusive, especially in times of struggle and uncertainty.

We pause now for a moment of silence to make room in our hearts

And in the heart of our community for something like hope to emerge.

May we breathe our way into new ways of loving.

May we live our way into new ways of thinking.

And may we act our way into new ways of hoping.

Now and always, Amen.

January 18: Between Weather

Between weather events, skies are uniform gray,

Winds have diminished to merest whiffs and whispers,

Rains have stopped and streets are strangely stilled.

Between political regimes, soulless men testify in congress

While oligarchs and favor-seekers fly to Florida,

Sensing the opportunity to evade or avoid consequences.

Bracing for the storm, we pray for strength and hold tight.

January 17: This Too

This–this morning, this house, this terrible thing, 

this lovely moment, this body, this verse, this this–

too–too hard to forget, too big for its britches,

too bad, too sad for words, to joyous to contain–

shall–shall we gather, shall I compare, shall not perish,

shall from time to time, shall receive, shall sing–

pass– pass the butter, pass the ball, pass the test

pass over, pass by, pass through, pass on, pass away.

January 16: Ash and Snow

As Pompeii’s volcanic ash covered and preserved

one fleeting moment just as it was for centuries and millennia

until archaeologists carefully dug and exposed

particularities of first-century Roman life,

so does Pittsburgh’s January snow cover and preserve

one fleeting moment just as it is for minutes and hours

until snow shovelers grumpily dig and expose

mundanities of 21st-century American living.

January 15: Snow Dances

Snow dances this morning, floating gracefully

upward here and there, sometimes sliding

sideways as winds shift, tumbling and turning,

advancing and retreating, but still and always

drifting down like scattered thoughts in my mind,

aimlessly disarrayed and not quite ready to land.

January 14: As I Grow Older

As I grow older, may I soften more than harden,

May I laugh and cry more than scowl and sneer,

May I be the sweet old guy who’s always chuckling,

Not the irksome, bitter crank who just can’t let go.

January 13: Baselining

Charts of the equanimous mind do not run

perfectly straight, without blips or bumps,

without lurches or leaps or lapses—no.

Such smooth lines occur only with death.

Equanimity means allowing rises and falls,

seeming eternities of ups and downs,

while always returning to first position—

baselining rather than flatlining.

January 12: Wisdom Prayer

We pause now to ground ourselves in the wisdom of this moment, 

The ever-unfolding now, just as it is, without filters or judgments. 

We pause to ground ourselves in the wisdom of sages and teachers, 

Whose lives and stories continue to inform and inspire us. 

We pause to ground ourselves in the wisdom of our senses, 

The sights, sounds, smells, tastes and textures that surround us. 

We pause to ground ourselves in the wisdom of our communities, 

Which remind us that nothing ever need be held completely alone. 

We ground ourselves in the wisdom of the prophets, 

Whose voices remind us of the good work always before us. 

We pause now for a moment of silence 

To ground ourselves in all these sources of wisdom.

May we remember the wisdom of the ages. 

May we open ourselves to the wisdom of our senses. 

May we find comfort in the wisdom of our communities. 

May we heed the wisdom of the prophets’ urgency. 

And may return to the wisdom of this moment again and again. 

Amen! 

January 11, 2025: Praise-God Barebone

When Praise-God Barebone’s name was read

Aloud in Parliament, did it inspire love of the Lord,

Did it give pause to those not in reverential

Frames of mind, did it bring a hush of awed

Encomium or even the briefest moment of silence?

Or did it merely induce ire and eye rolling,

Even among those who stood with Cromwell,

Fighting for the good old cause until the end?

January 10, 2025: Trees in Winter

Trees in winter are so beautifully bare, so

meticulously exposed and apparently vulnerable

during this absolutely coldest time of year

when the rest of us cover ourselves in layers,

huddling on couches, in beds, dozing, dreaming,

hoping for returning warmth and springing light;

yet even in the thinnest of branches in the freezing

winds amid bleakest gray skies, something flows,

carrying the newness of green that will emerge.

January 9, 2025: When Someone Great Dies

When someone great dies, no matter what else

Might be happening in the world, no matter fires

That burn in the west or storms that rage in the east,

No matter twisters in the south or floods in the north,

No matter wars that kill thousands and deaden our senses,

No matter tinhorn tyrants ascending to tinseled thrones,

We pause to remember that true greatness lies not

In tearing down but in building up, not in fear but in love,

Not in narrow bigotries but in the broadest understandings,

That true greatness lies in art rather than artifice, in the wisdom 

of the loving hand and not the ignorance of the cruel fist.

January 8, 2025: All Made One

No stones unturned, no songs unsung, no souls 

unmoved, no bells unrung, no beds unmade, 

no deeds undone; yet old made new, and broken 

whole, stale made fresh, and false made true, empty 

full, and moving still, none made all and all made one.

January 7, 2025: Let It Fall

Let the snow fall on everything—

Grass, trees, bushes, flower beds,

houses, cars, sidewalks, streetlights,

Fears, frustrations, hopes, dreams—

Let it fall and cover all with softness,

With a blanket that stifles noise and

Leaves comfortingly quiet beauty. 

January 6, 2025: Ordinary Epiphanies

Ordinary time begins in Pittsburgh with such

solemnities as scraping snow off cars,

shoveling driveways, salting sidewalks,

shuttling children to school, and scheduling

dentist’s appointments, with accompanying

epiphanies about the sacredness of every

little thing we do to keep life moving forward

through the everyday and the extraordinary.

January 5, 2025: New Year Prayer

We give thanks today for the great cycle of nature and time,
For the way a new year bursts forth from the dead of winter,
Amid cold winds and gray skies, amid long, dark nights
Amid the weary world’s worries and wonderings.
We give thanks for this annual reminder that something new
Begins each moment, that the line of demarcation between
What was and what will be is the line we tread always,
The ever-unfolding Now that is, and is and ever shall be.
Let us pause for a moment of silence to experience
This now, this new moment, this new year, this new place in time.

May we live this day and every day with a newness of spirit

That lifts and sustains us, that brings us closer to now.

May we give thanks for reminders of possibility and new life.

And may we live our lives this year with passion and with love.

Amen. 

January 4, 2025: Christmas Tree, Presence and Absence

For one or two more days the Christmas tree will remain

standing in the corner of our living room, silent witness

to a season of impatient waiting and imperfect planning, 

bringer of twinkling light in the dull darkness of winter,

bearer of tiny, exquisite memories strewn among branches,

reminder of the possibility of new life waiting to emerge,

life-size symbol of hope and joy, and the cycle of birth and death.

Even in its absence it will hold a place of significance here

in this space where we laugh and cry and hold one another

tenderly, lovingly. Even in its absence it manifests presence.

January 3, 2025: Snow Fall Still

So fine is the snow this morning that I didn’t realize

until I sat down with my coffee that it was falling

still, tiny particles of frozen beauty, ghostly pale,

like time itself, leaving an ever-deeper accretion

measured in inches and feet and years and decades,

dustings of white flakes and fleeting seconds

accumulating in a form both heavy and ephemeral.

What shall we do with this day, with any day ever,

But shake off what we can, get the motor running,

humming something like a song, breathe in the air,

clothe ourselves against the bitter cold moments,

trudging, marveling, as time and snow fall still?

January 2, 2025: Present Impermanent

Sometime after we learn object permanence we discover

impermanence of object, subject, modifier, and verb,

leaving little but punctuation and exclamatory phrases

—which (amazingly!) may, sometimes, be enough . . .

Thus, the story of my life: ! (, , ,) ; , — . . . may it be so!

January 1, 2025: Softness of Time

Waking beneath a blanket of gray cloud feels somehow

reassuring, feels like a soft beginning to a hard year, feels less 

harsh than bright sunlight bearing down like an interrogation lamp,

demanding answers to questions that can't possibly be answered. 

Somehow reassuring also that the clouds are entirely indifferent 

to the plight of those below, indifferent to mortality itself 

and the realization that the old must die, and soon, and that memory 

is all that will remain until memory dies as well at last. 

Snow falls in the afternoon gently here and maybe everywhere 

between here and Ohio, where memories continue to live and die, 

where sky and frozen ground become covered by the same dull 

exquisite softness of time as it turns, descends, and turns away.

©2025 Jim Magaw