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By Carol Park My friend and I leave our suburbs for an old freeway—Skyline Boulevard tops a ridge, overlooking coast and cities. We whiz past spreading oaks, moss hanging from their limbs. We talk of close family—how remote they’ve turned. A stretch of firs slopes down. Then clouds of slate froth, engulf their dusty green. Fog hides our aches and doubts churning deep—how to make of midlife days some lasting art? What comes at sixty? Parked, we hike through chilly mist on paths of needles, and look to distant peaks—their forms soft today, their blue like old, bone china. “Poison oak—don’t let the red leaves fool you,” says my friend. “Yeah, I learned a decade back. Don’t you love that madrone with its bark peeled far back?” I pause to snap a photo of pale underparts, ruddy protection curling down. How much will I expose my drooping heart? Pale rocks next line our path—tiny and precise as bricks set in symmetry—what expert mason did it? I snag a chunk for reminding—such unpredicted bounty. Carol Park’s homes range from suburbs to wilderness. Six years in Japan altered this California girl. Hiking, gardening, mentoring and reading bring joy. She teaches ESL, writes and involves herself in Christian worship and service. Her MFA comes from Seattle Pacific University. The Haight Ashbury Journal, Black Fox Literary, MiGoZine, Presence: A Journal of Catholic Poetry, The Cider Press Review, the Monterey Review, Viral Verse: Poetry of the Pandemic, and New Contexts: 2 and 3 have published her work.
Carol's other work on Foreshadow: Spiraling Songs (Poetry, May 2023)
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By Royal Rhodes Such silence enmeshes us. How you hear in it each change in the cascade of fountain-spray on the waiting water of a marble pool. And over the laurel a feeling: three or four leaves that a butterfly has stripped. To you it trembles past on the weight-bearing breath of the valley, and you think back to another time when it already appeared so perfect to you. The stillness around a mystery. Was it not more? Isn't it increasing? Isn't it out of control? Isn't it pushing almost as if in resistance upon your thundering heart? Its stroke breaks somewhere in a noiseless pause in the day. There. He is there. Royal Rhodes taught religious studies for almost 40 years. His poems have appeared in various journals, including Ekstasis, Ekphrastic Review, The Seventh Quarry, and The Montreal Review, among others. His poetry and art collaborations have been published with The Catbird [on the Yadkin] Press in North Carolina.
Royal's other work on Foreshadow: A Road Through Ohio Spring (Poetry, April 2023) A Pilgrim's Song (Poetry, May 2023)  After clicking 'Play', please wait a few moments for the podcast to load. You can also listen on Spotify, Apple, Google and other platforms. Listen to other Forecasts here. Theological educator Paul Cornelius speaks from his experience of a transient life, which comes with challenges and opportunities for growth. Also important are our travelling companions, who push us to think differently. Paul then describes the need to develop skills to motivate people to join us when we have a vision and are in a leadership role. Finally, Paul mentions the people and texts that nourish him, including Christ as his primary frame of reference. Rev. Dr. Paul Cornelius is a theological educator and the president of William Carey International University.
Will Shine is a co-host of Forecast. By Mike Hall Be still and know that I am God. Psalm 46:10 When I feel as if I’ve run miles and miles, An endless trek trying to crush my will, When my days are filled with daunting trials, I pause . . . calm my mind . . . and rest in the still. When chaos threatens to upend my life, My inner demons all drinking their fill, When all seems lost, my effort racked with strife, I pause . . . calm my mind . . . and rest in the still. When I question my lot and cry, “Why me?” As I push the weight of it all uphill, When conflict and trouble are all I see, I pause . . . calm my mind . . . and rest in the still. Deep in my soul, underneath this façade, In the quiet . . . in the still . . . I sense God. Mike Hall has been a teacher for 43 years. He is the author of two poetry collections, Autumn's Back Porch and Thinking Out Loud. His work is meant to encourage and uplift others in their daily walk. He and his wife Cynthia live in the Dallas, Texas, area.
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