Doors, Windows and Borders

A Few Thoughts: An unlocked door, or an open window? 

If I should leave my front door unlocked, is that an open invitation for anyone to walk in without knocking? If I find an open window of opportunity, do I have the  choice to enter or not? So, what's the difference?

An unlocked door requires a decision first whether to take action based on  unforeseen circumstances. An open window reveals what lies within. 

A border is first a door, but even if it is unlocked, one is expected to knock first, and wait to be invited in.  A window is not a border, it is the opportunity to experience what is on the other side. Sometimes all you have to do is put a leg up, and pull yourself through. It takes more effort than simply turning a knob, or pulling a handle, and walking in. With an open window the goal is in sight. With a closed door there is ambiguity. Barging in unannounced will get you through the doorway with surprised looks, and grimmacing faces. Peering in, and being seen first let's the other side know your intention of being let in or simply checking out the view from your side of the opening. Opportunities, like open windows don't happen every day, but they leave us with better chances of getting another view without harmful circumstances. Barging in limits our chances of ever coming back in again. Which would you choose?

Good Day Ya'll!

D. Witt 2/2426

A Rhapsody of Praise

A Few Thoughts: Sunday morning: A Rhapsody of Praise! (As always, a work in progress)

   A Rhapsody of Praise 

I may not be sitting 

Beneath the pulpit this morning 

But I got plenty of spirit 

Flowing through my veins

In a rhapsody of praise

Brings back memories

From out the gutter

Ghosts from my past

Sorrows and heartache

Once tamed the fire

Held captive my soul

But I found him again

My Savior my, King

From the deepest holler

To the highest mountain

I hear the screaming

My soul's desire

To be free of the pain

To be one with the Father

In the steps of his son

Bruised from battle

The world gives us pain

But we can rise again

Through his precious blood

Spilled not in vain

Song for the ages

I hear his angels proclaim

Sunday morning revival

Eases the strain 

Headed for Zion

On this glory train

Thus do I sing 

Come my Savior

Lend me your answers

To this unholy refrain

Cries from a sinner

To glorious revival

Come sit beside me

My fellow traveler

Out from darkness 

To life ever after.

Amen

D.A. Wittler 1/4/26

 

What I Leave You

What I Leave You

Here I am

Reminiscing 

More years behind 

Than there are ahead

What will I leave you

When I'm dead?

Footsteps swept away

Surf and sand

Or paths worn down 

Take you by the hand

Showing a way

To the promised land.

Northwest Ohio

Homegrown pain

Green grass growing

In a Spring rain

Bare feet stomping

Water

Down a storm drain.

What I Leave You

When I'm gone

Visions of happiness

Written in a song

If only the words

Could hold you 

Like a melody

All my own

Love will be my legacy

When you are all alone.

There you are

Manhood

My two sons

I remember

You growin’

In your mother's womb

Wonderin’

What life would be

With your eyes wide open

In a brand new world

That's what I Leave You

My sons

Memories and moments

In the sun.

Northwest Ohio

Homegrown pain

Green grass growing

In a Spring rain

Bare feet stomping

Water

Down a storm drain…

That's my dream

What I Leave You

When I'm gone.

D.A. Wittler

12/9/25

Box Full of Words

Box Full of Words

Cardboard cover

Signed with a sharpie

Box full of words

Nobody ever heard

Only in my head

The love

The loss

The memories 

 Lust for life

Captured there

In moments of clarity

My song

My story

Prayerfully crafted

Soulful melody

It comes around

So infrequently 

I wonder why

I can't see it

Only when I need it

Sits in a corner

Like that lonely child

I used to be

Innocent then

Innocence lost since

In a box full of words

My song

My story

Crafted recklessly 

Soulful melody

It comes around

So infrequently 

I wonder why

 I can't see it 

Only when I need it

Like a lonely child

Caught in a corner

Lost in a memory

Box full of words

To keep me company.

D.A. Wittler 

12/5/25

Poking Through The Past

Poking Through The Past

A Memoire 

By:

D.A. Wittler 

Chapter 1:

A Simpler Time

(From Camelot To The Moon)

I was born in 1962. A time barely considered part of the boomer generation and yet not quite full fledged generation X. I vaguely remember that little house on Otto street in Ottoville, Ohio where I was the newest little brother to a big sister Cindy, and two older brothers Steve and Keith. Images of sunlight through living room curtains, Lincoln logs on a carpeted floor, and fire crackers on the Fourth of July still echo in my mind. They seem like dreams today, but I know that shy little boy who loved to wear hats, and dress up in costume was destined to see man on the moon. 

         

The 1960's was a simpler time with Andy Griffith and I Love Lucy on a black and white television screen, and yet the Bay of Pigs, and Gulf of Tonkin ushered in a fire storm begun with a shot heard on a sunny November day in Dallas, Texas. And so the days of innocent prosperity born of blood spilled by a Greatest Generation gave way to war once again. Free love tainted by a silent misery delivered a new addiction defined by Timothy Leary as the “Tune in, turn on, and drop out” generation. It gave the reality of man on the moon a whole new meaning; getting high was no longer a trip taken by man and machine. 

As our growing family was about to bear the pangs of another little sister, we moved out of that little house on Otto street to the Bigelow house at 103 East Sixth. It was built on a dead end alley that served as a neighbor's driveway ending on a little hill along the once Miami and Erie canal. A one time waterway for German immigrants from cities like Cincinnati, and ports of call like New Orleans. Commerce flowed as well along the way into what was known to the natives as The Great Black Swamp. The only remaining evidence of the Shawnee and  Delaware are the hand hewn arrow heads, grinding stones and bones of those who inherited it from generations long passed into legend spoken around a campfire. Its ashes ground into a muddy clay used to fire bricks to build sanctuaries of Gothic design for Catholic priests to gather in the faithful. 

Looking Back

Looking  Back

Looking back

As the crow flies

And the ravens form

I can feel the coming storm

Unlike an October rain

When youth was in full bloom

And hunger kept me warm

It is just a memory 

An olive drab uniform

Drenched in Missouri sweat

And iron red earth 

Where a soldier was born

So many years gone

But lessons always learned

And my buddy's last words

See you soon

Echo in my brain

A ringing reminder

Of age marching on 

With dates in bronze

On A granite stone

Waiting there 

Marking time

Like a short timers tune

Free as a bird

Homeward bound.

D.A. Wittler 7/26/25

Is Anybody Out There?

When I started this blog way back when, I was another man living another life. I was a husband, and father. 

The End

Today I am an old man living another life. I had lost it all, and gained back more than I ever bargained for. I hope someone finds this page some day, and ...