Thursday, October 31, 2013

Burning bush

Sometimes I don*t know that I*m waiting for something until it happens.  While I know full well we have a burning bush in the front yard, it is green most of the year.  It only began turning red yesterday.  I forgot I was waiting for this.

Finally the burning bush
In front
Has begun to burn.
We had enough cold
To signal
Autumn is here.
It seems
The bush took the hint.
The sugar maple
In our neighbor*s backyard
Turned to red and orange
The hint travelled
Up and down the street
And beyond.
Today is Halloween.
It is gray and wet.
The long-awaited colors
Are finally in tune
With the season.
The stage is set.
The bush
Is burning.

Wednesday, October 30, 2013


This is one of those things that began in one place and ended in another.  I have changed environments a number of times today, and I cannot tell which way I am counting... up or down.  I think it has something to do with the barometric pressure.  These are interesting times, no matter if I am beginning or ending, or simply staying put.

The search continues.
Just as all of us
Count down
It seems we also
This ends
We keep looking.
We keep waiting.
And sometimes
we do not count
At all.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013


The college journey continues.  We are all counting different things.  My brother and sister-in-law arrived on Sunday, and left their car in our driveway so they could spend a couple of days in Chicago.  It*s a funny thing, this counting.  What happens when we arrive at the end... or do we just keep counting?  I keep finding new possibilities, even as I count.  

We are always
In some sort
Of countdown.
What we are counting towards
Person by person.
It*s not always New Year*s.
Sometimes it*s
To the end of world
As we know it,
With nothing
On the other side.
I waltz with the possibilities
Of what will happen
When zero arrives,
Zero arrives.
It seems we are free
To choose
What we are counting.
Today I count the number of animals fed
By the crab apple tree
In the back yard.
Today I count the days
Before I preach
Namely: six.
We are always
In some sort of countdown.
Today I do two steps forward
One step back.
Begin again.

Monday, October 28, 2013

When I sit quiet

The backyard crab apple makes a front yard appearance.

When I sit quiet,
Amazing things happen.
The wild world comes closer.
I see more.
This morning a gray squirrel
Hopped up onto the ice chest
Outside the living room window
Next to my quiet chair.
He held a crab apple
Between his front paws,
Turned the apple
With every bite he took.
If squirrels can relish
He relished this apple.
When I sit quiet
The backyard delights arrive
Next to my quiet chair,
Sit on the ice chest,
Relish the apples procured
From the back yard.
When I sit quiet
Amazing things arrive.

The intentions were good

The house was filled with family last night, two home safe and sound, and two to spend the night before their next excursion.  We went out for dinner.  Now it is me and the cat and the turtle figuring out what*s next. Perhaps I will heat up some soup for lunch.  The house still smells delightful.  Like heaven.  

The intentions were good.
The soup was made
And hot
The house smelled like my kind
Of heaven.
Conversation brought all of us
Up to speed,
With requisite laughter.
This morning I found
The guest air mattress leaked
All of its air
In the night.
I think now
In retrospect
My kind of heaven
Is not the same for someone
Who does not enjoy
Any sort of bean soup.
The intentions were good.
We have a month*s worth
Of lentil mushroom barley soup
In the freezer,
With some saved out
For tonight*s supper.
The house still smells
Like heaven
To me.

Sunday, October 27, 2013


Waiting for my brother and sister-in-law to arrive from their conference in Skokie, even as I wait for my husband and daughter to return home from D.C.  They will all converge on this house that smells like heaven.  Heaven right now smells like lentil mushroom barley soup with celery (and a few other things thrown in).  There's a chill in the air outside.  In here it is warm... and smells like heaven.

Soup bubbles
On the stove.
It waits for everyone
To arrive home
From distant states.
The house smells
Like heaven.
I particularly smell the celery
Right now,
But I know soon it will blend in
With all the other parts.
This is the way of soup.
Does heaven smell like
Lentil mushroom barley soup
With celery?
I think some days
It may.
As warmth diminishes
It seems important to remind ourselves
Of warmth
And even heaven

Saturday, October 26, 2013


As I consider next steps with my daughter, I consider next steps for a friend moving on to being a bishop.  I also consider next steps for myself.  It is often difficult to tell who is launcher, who is launch-ee,  I guess it depends on who is looking, and from where.  The next thing always remains to be seen.

So much is said
About launching our children
Into college.
Truth be told
We are always launching others
Or being launched ourselves
Into the wider Universe
And Beyond.
Sometimes we help prepare
The launching pad.
Sometimes we stand on the pad
Others have prepared for us:
Our arms are outstretched
For the very next thing
To come.

More music

Home to the table, home to the feast
Where the last are the first and the greatest are the least
Where the rich will envy what the poor have got
Everybody's got enough, 'though we ain't got a lot
No one is forgotten, no one is alone
When we're calling all the children home
                                                -John McCutcheon
Today I walk around humming All Saints music.  I have acquired quite a repertoire over 58 years in the church and beyond.  Because I am preaching All Saints Sunday, I am already in Saturday sermon mode, even though the sermon will most probably gel by the Friday before, so I can get the text to the person who will be translating it into Spanish as I preach for the 1:00 PM service.  I wonder how critters translates into Spanish.  Right now I have no certain idea what will end up on the page, or, for that matter, what will emerge from my mouth.

All Saints music
Accompanies the Saturday chores,
Even though All Saints Day
Has yet to come.
I Sing a Song of the Saints of God
Merges into
Sine Nomine:
For all the saints,
Who from their labors rest.
More faintly I hear
All God’s critters got a place in the choir
Some sing low
Some sing higher
Some sing out loud on the telephone wire
Some just clap their hands
Or paws
Or anything they got now.
Underneath it all
I hear
John McCutcheon sing
Calling all the children home
Supper’s on the table,
Everybody come in.
I know there will be
More music.
There is always
More music.

Friday, October 25, 2013

Do it again

I am slated to preach in a week and a half.  It has been a long time since I preached.  I have been making notes for the last month.  It is not a surprise to me that I have a preaching dream.  Before now, these dreams involved getting ready for a service and losing my notes and forgetting what I had to say.  Kind of like the dreams about arriving in class to find the final exam and realizing I hadn*t studied.  

This dream had me more than ready to preach, but so delighted to hear what my daughter had to say that I wanted everyone to hear it.

Home alone
For an extended weekend
I capture last night*s dream,
Wonder at the feeling
Left behind.
I attended one of my old churches.
My daughter preached at the early service.
I was slated to preach
At the later one.
Sitting in the pew
With my beloved
We smiled together
At our daughter*s words.
You should do it again
I told her,
Do it again.
More people need to hear
What you have to say.
At this church
They now served whipped cream cake
Between services.
My daughter left her sermon
In the pulpit
For another round
At the later service.
We all ate cake.
I woke from the dream
Strangely warmed.

Thursday, October 24, 2013


It is Common Application essay time.  Today my daughter and husband leave for a college trip.  I will keep the home fires burning... which means keeping the cat and turtle fed, and picking up the house for my brother and sister-in-law arriving at the exact same time on Sunday that my daughter and husband arrive home.  It will be quite the juxtaposition.  There.  Now I've used it three times.

I don*t believe
I have ever used the word
In a sentence.
Now I have,
But the above sentence
Really doesn*t count.
I wonder about the vocabulary
That flows
Like magic
From the mouths
Of my children.
They must have been exposed
To way more input
Than mine.
Of course they have.
They were both
On the launching pad
At birth
Each in his own way
Each in her own way.
The juxtaposition
Of home and world
Years and years ago.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013


After yesterday*s chill and wet, gray skies, today*s blue and white and gold felt like what fall ought to be.  Now it is gray again.  I remember it was blue not three hours ago.

It was a little blue today,
The blue of true blue
Fall skies
Punctuated by white clouds,
Full cumulus,
Gold yellow leaves
This morning showed blue
To early afternoon.
I hold on
To this short-term memory
Of blue
It was blue.
It will be that particular blue

Tuesday, October 22, 2013


October is Clergy Appreciation Month.  For all my clergy colleagues:  may you know appreciation, and find those who notice your particular gifts and name them, even as you do the same for others. Some congregations have a gift for true appreciation of their clergy leaders, some do not.  I have served congregations of both sorts.  For my friends and colleagues serving congregations which lack this gift, may you seek out and find people who truly see you;  may you know places of affirmation.  May you know yourself loved, year round.

With coffee
Came the realization
I made the right decision
Years ago.
It took time
A lot of time
To come to terms
With it,
To sort of settle the
What ifs
If onlys
And realize
I feel appreciated here and now,
Realize that such appreciation
Is never all or nothing.
I am appreciated mostly,
And mostly
Is enough.

Monday, October 21, 2013

Right questions

Sometimes the plans for the day are not the ones which need to be followed.  This morning I forgot to peruse the plan and ask: Is this really the best idea?  I suspect not, and I'm also not sure I would have known.  Even so, sometimes redemption arrives in the afternoon.

It seems I forgot
To ask the right questions
When I woke up this morning.
How do I want
To spend the day?
Who and what will be
The best company?
Perhaps the birds and squirrels,
The occasional fox,
As they mine the remains
Of the crab apples
Piled under the Tree of Life
In the backyard.
This afternoon I remember
Some of the right questions.
It is never too late,
It seems,
To retrieve the day
From ill-chosen morning questions.
There is redemption.

Sunday, October 20, 2013


I have several friends and acquaintances who are involved in marathon running.  I have never been much into sports myself.  Still... I am competitive.  It is amazing to me how certain things catch me thinking along those lines.  This is not my preference.  Still, it is part of my reality.
My preference
Is to compete with no one
But myself.
When I find myself
With one foot
On the yellow line,
Synapses begin firing
Before the starter*s pistol
Has even been loaded,
Much less fired.
One foot on the line
And the race
Has as good
As begun
My preference
Is to compete with no one
But myself.
Once a race has been named
It may as well have begun
It*s as good as finished,
Trophies awarded.
I might still have a chance
To win
Even though winning
Has nothing to do with it
At all.

Saturday, October 19, 2013

For a friend

This is not an unfamiliar place.  Usually waiting does not involve ballots.  Still... everything is surely different on the other side of a decision.  Different how?  Of course it remains to be seen.  For now... we wait.

This is the kind of wait
With a scheduled end.
Everyone votes this morning,
Waits until the ballots
Are tallied,
Then announced.
There may be one
Or two,
Maybe three ballots,
Perhaps even more,
But still
This is a wait
With a scheduled end.
Life will surely be different
On the other side.
Surely different.
As God wills
As God ordains.
Sunday will come again

Friday, October 18, 2013

One returned

Today is the day we honor Luke the Physician.  I love the Gospel according to Luke.  This is year we read from Luke.  Sunday we heard about the healing of the ten lepers.  One returned to give thanks.  The other nine fulfilled the bare necessities.  There are many ways to turn this story.  I am grateful for the many ways.

Most times all we have to do
Is say a full
Thank you.
That*s two things.
Sometimes we say one
Without the other.
Sometimes the yes
Forgets the thank you.
Sometimes the thank you
Is offered
When the yes never registered.
And of course it is possible
To say
Yes thank you
Because we were Minnesota-raised
To always be polite.
We would not want someone else
To feel
Their effort went unnoticed.
I am sure
There are more possibilities.
There always are.
This is why we need
So many sermons
On the exact same stories.
This is why Jesus
Tells his stories
Again and again
And again.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

One yes

This is one of my If you give a mouse a cookie reflections.  We all have our addictions.  Saying yes to one thing, one time, does not mean we have to say yes to the seeming endless things which come after.  This seems a universal thing with friends and clients, and of course, me.  One time I went to a movie theater and, yes, saw two movies when I had only paid for one.  Both movies were ones I wanted to see.  Still, I was emotionally exhausted afterwards.  I should have stopped at one.

I offer one yes.
Many others wait in line
Behind it,
As if buying the ticket
To one movie
Means unlimited access
To them all;
As if one yes
Opens the floodgates
Of possibility
I will be stuck
In the theater,
Seeing movie after movie
Until the theater finally closes.
I will be left with my endless refill
Of popcorn
And soda pop.
One yes
Simply one yes.
I forget
I only have to see
The one movie,
Savor one box
Of popcorn,
Go home.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Sometimes showing up

This is one syllable more than a haiku.  Sometimes more syllables are required ... to carry the thought.   There is a lot behind this distilled haiku plus one.  Currently it means I have added one more service to my All Saints sermon roster.  I have never preached four services in a row.  November 3rd... I will.

Sometimes showing up
Is the only thing needed.
Sometimes we must speak

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Thanks for the apples

We have lived in our house for almost sixteen years.  Never have I seen so much wildlife.  Why have I not realized, until now, that our crab apple is the tree of life for so many creatures?   The grapevine has taken off again.  It is haven for the birds and squirrels.  I wonder if everyone*s backyard offers the potential of being the Garden of Eden.  We have taken to leaving the gates open, not fixing the fence hole, so the boundaries are more permeable.  We never know who will visit.

Sunday night the daughter,
Coming up the front walk,
Nearly stepped on
A possum.
She stood still.
The possum
Ambled away.
Yesterday dawned
The morning
Brought a fox
To the backyard.
The crab apple has become
A Tree of Life,
A tree that offers food
For the world,
At least the outside world
Around us.
After his apple meal
The fox walked past the back door
Allowed us the full view of himself,
Black-stockinged legs,
All, it seems, by way of thanks
For the apples.
He left the garden.
I await his return.

Monday, October 14, 2013

For Kurt, now gone

This is for Father Kurt Olson, my field education supervisor in seminary in the early eighties.  He died over the weekend while waiting to be well enough for bypass surgery.  He never had the bypass surgery, but I know he is completely healed, and singing in his beautiful tenor voice.  Now he has a renewed vision of eternal life.  

There are things
I never forgave you for:
The vision of heaven
With bishops in the inner ring,
God, of course, in the center.
Priests held hands,
The next ring out.
We will not note
What this vision says
For everyone else.
There are things
I never quite forgave you for,
A few things.
Now that you are gone,
You truly know
What happens Next.
I picture you laughing.
Most likely,
Still have a laugh
Big as the all outdoors.
On the other side of the veil,
I laugh with you.
I remember you laid your hands
On my head,
Wanted me to be
The first woman
You helped ordain.
On the other side of the veil
I laugh with you.
On the other side of things
All is forgiven.

Sunday, October 13, 2013

First Meal

This started as a reflection on Jesus' healing of the ten lepers, today's reading from Luke.  It is one of my favorite stories to preach on.  The reflection did not go there, though.  I am not preaching today.  But I am on the roster a few weeks hence.  So it's not a surprise I've been waking up with possibilities every morning. This morning I am captured by the Da Vinci painting of the Last Supper.  The disciples have made plenty of room for the rest of us at the Table, it seems to me.

I ponder preaching again.
The table in front of me
Is set
With possibility.
The company on all sides
Of the Table
Is good.
We eat
The Last Supper.
We eat
The First Meal ever.
There is always room
For one or two or three more.
Always room.
One side of the Table
Is completely free.
Y’all come.
There is  
Plenty to eat
At the Last Supper,
The First Meal.
The Table was set
At the beginning
Of everything there is,
Of everything there was,
Of everything
That is to come.

Saturday, October 12, 2013


Parents place different expectations on their children.  My parents did.  My beloved and I do.  Some expectations are frankly weird.  They have nothing to do with the particular children, but everything to do with the fears of the particular parent.  Our children learn from us.  We learn from our children.  It goes both ways.  I am still learning.  God grant me the ability to continue on this path.  God grant my daughter the same.

Less than forty years ago
I was in her place,
The last one to send
To college.
The expectation was
I would not attend college
An odd thing, now,
I think.
It was even odd
I want her to go
To a surprising unknown place,
Learn things in categories
Of her own.
I want her
To spread her wings
In blue and clouded skies:
Learn the updrafts
Learn the downdrafts.
The language of birds
Is mine.
She will speak
In her own categories,
Her own language,
As she always has.
She may even attend a school
Close to home.

Friday, October 11, 2013


Ah, the senior year.  We are all paying closer attention to this time.

Is more than ready
To spread her wings.
Are mostly ready
To let her fly.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Informed therapy

The workshops for therapists are legion.  Yoga or art or music.  Heck...I could spend years learning every therapeutic nuance.  It seems to me good therapy is informed by life well lived.  This morning I worked out. Now I watch the cat asleep in the sun.  Soon I will shower and go to work.

The announcements arrive
In the mail
Every day.
They offer training
In informed therapy.
The most recent announcement
Offered lessons
In yoga-informed therapy.
It seems everything
Is therapeutic
If we apply ourselves
To it.
This morning I watch
The cat in the sun.
He cleans between his back toes,
Then goes sound asleep
Upside down.
This morning I apply myself
To cat-informed therapy.
I wish I could clean between my toes
In the sun,
Go sound asleep
Upside down.
I might wake up

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

The Domain

Continuing adventures in school shopping.  Kentucky borders on Illinois.  Really.  I have only driven there from Indiana.  I did not think of myself as geographically challenged.  Clearly I am.

She will consider
No school
In a state that touches
Until just now
I did not realize we claimed
As a neighbor.
Until just now
I did not know my sense of place
Was so narrow.
The closest place
She will consider
Is on a mountain top
In Tennessee.
They call it
The Domain.

Book title

Somehow I know I have a book to write.  Like most things in my life, it is coming in dribs and drabs.  A jigsaw puzzle of perceptions.  Maybe a mosaic of perceptions.  Right now I have the title.

I awoke a month ago
With a book title.
I do not know
The exact content
Of the book.
Some mornings
I secretly hope
Someone else will write it
Whatever it is.
Some mornings
The book title sits with me
At breakfast
Over oatmeal and coffee.
Some mornings
It pirouettes
On the back lawn,
Scares away the squirrels and grackles.
Some afternoons it joins me
In the office
Under the altar,
Sits under the office window,
As I sit with clients.
Some mornings
I secretly hope
Someone else will write it
Whatever it is.
This is one of those mornings.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Carry on

I love what I do.  It is loads of fun.  Even in the midst of difficulties and pain and sorrow and confusion, there is often laughter in the midst.  Dare I say it?  It is fun.  It is joyful.  In this spot under the altar and next to the nursery school I am having fun.  Fun seems a frivolous word. involves play and laughter and occasional pure silliness.

I am having
Way too much fun.
Perhaps this means
I was not having
Enough fun before.
I do not know
If there is some sort
Of fun quota
Perhaps required?
Is there a measure
For fun?
How will I know
When enough is enough?
I suspect
I won*t ever have to worry
About the measure.
Carry on,
Carry on.
Carry on some more.

Monday, October 7, 2013

Yellow-bellied sapsucker

This is definitely not the way to watch birds.

We took pains
With the sliding glass doors
In the back.
Each one is gridded
Into fifteen sections
So the birds
Do not mistake them
For sky.
We took pains
Yet still
This morning
A bird
Knocked himself out
On a door.
We think the sun
Got in his eyes.
He lay there panting
Long enough
For us to get the rescue box,
Look him over,
Then he flew:
A yellow-bellied sapsucker!
We have not seen one
In years.
Now we have.

The opposite direction

The Minnesota girl still lives inside me.  When I ask for directions or opinions, and I know the other person is wrong, I still have the need to explain to that person why he or she is most likely wrong.  I hope for clearer understanding.  Sometimes it works.  Most often, it doesn*t.

I walked and climbed all night
In my dreams.
My daughter,
It seems,
Had possession
Of the car.
Halfway up a hill
I asked a familiar-looking stranger
The location of a particular street.
The stranger,
A woman with long blonde hair,
The stranger,
She stood
At the bottom of the hill.
She told me to walk
In the opposite direction.
I knew she thought I spoke
Of a different street
In a far-off suburb.
I do not live there
I slipped and slid down the hill
So I could explain why
She did not understand.
She patted my hand,
Encouraged me
In the opposite direction.

Sunday, October 6, 2013

Cat clock

I gave the cat clock to my beloved years ago now. Then we got a live cat the same shape as the clock.  We have only noticed the similarity recently.  There is no mouse pendulum, moving or unmoving, under the live cat.  He seems happy, either way.  On occasion we find a mouse left, like a present, on top of the dryer in the basement.  Like the mouse upstairs, it does not move.

We have a cat clock
On the dining room wall.
The mouse pendulum
Stopped moving,
Years ago now.
The hands
Still keep time.
The second hand sweeps
The cat*s body
Once a minute,
As it should.
The mouse
Underneath the cat
An unmoving part
Of the whole.
From time to time
We talk of reanimating
The mouse.
He seems safer
The way he is.

Saturday, October 5, 2013

The specialist

There*s something about starting out Saturday morning, once every three months, with this doctor from Eritrea.  My natural skeptic is put in suspension, and I believe this man who says the same thing each time he enters the room.  I am completely disarmed.

I picture this doctor
Entering every examination room,
Saying the child*s name
At least eight times
In a row.
The name flows off his tongue
Like honey.
You are wonderful,
He says.
You are the best,
He says.
You are perfect,
He says.
My daughter brought a friend once
To her every three month appointment
With this doctor.
Her friend was also amazed
By this specialist
From Eritrea.
He gives lollipops to everyone,
Parents and children alike.
We know he tells each child
He or she
Is number one.
We know each parent
Each child
Believes him,
Just as we do.


Usually I manage to stay on the sidelines, watch races or elections with a favorite in mind, sometimes a clear favorite.  I cast my vote, when I have a vote, then watch the outcome.  Sometimes, however, I have a dog in the race, in the election, and it feels like I am praying bigger, for a particular outcome,  even when I do not have a vote.  This time I don*t.  Still... I have a dog in this race.  I have no idea if this is a faithful way to pray, or not.  

Most times I do not
Have a dog running the race,
Except now I do.

Friday, October 4, 2013


More backyard observations.  The grackles are in ascendance.  I miss the coyote.  Perhaps he ate all the crab apples.  Or perhaps something else finished them off.

The yard is filled with grackles
And the occasional squirrel.
They vie for the territory.
The grackles have
The edge.
Numbers count here.
Sixty massed grackles
Overtake one,
Even two,
One grackle claims victory
For the flock
From his post
At the top of the garage.
Or perhaps he is afraid
Of the squirrels.
It is hard to know,
Not being knowledgeable
In the language
Of grackles.
The coyote has been unseen
Since the crab apple incident.
I worry
He may never return.

Thursday, October 3, 2013

My trainer says

Often people come to me and we have an amazing amount in common.  I often wonder how they found me. Then there are those who come to me and I am made aware of things I never knew before.  I think the back pain has been brewing for a couple weeks, but I had learned to ignore it.  Keep walking, the trainer says, Keep walking.  So I am.  So I do.   Sometimes these things happen.

I do not need vicarious back pain
To realize back spasms
I sit with my client
On the edge
Of her chair.
I awaken
Day two
With back pain.
I am the frozen shoulder girl.
I have a wonky brain.
It registers barometric shifts.
I do not need vicarious back pain.
There are other things
On the resume.
I offer a wealth of experience
From A to Z.
I have not chosen to list
In lower back pain.
My trainer says
Sometimes these things happen.
Keep walking.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Keep walking

I know many folk who have back trouble.  I tend toward a wonky brain.  Until this week... that is.  Wonky brain (not a technical term, mind you) has now decided to add my lower back to the chorus.  Keep walking, my trainer says, Keep walking.  So I do. I walk between sessions.  I do the three of five exercises she showed me.  I will make sure I learn the other two tomorrow.  Meanwhile I keep walking.  This is not bad advice, in general.

Now that I*ve mostly mastered 
The art involved 
In living with a brain
Where seizures threaten
With every barometric shift,
My lower back
Demands more attention.
I find myself
On the floor
Curling this way
And that. 
I remember exactly
Three of the five back exercises
The trainer taught me
I will return tomorrow.
Whatever you do
She says
Keep walking.
Whatever you do,
Don*t sit for very long
At a stretch.
Whatever you do
Keep walking.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013


Apparently monarch habitat is being decimated.  There are fewer monarchs around due to a number of things: weed killer in fields, climate change, you name it.  There are fewer monarchs.  We consider planting our backyard, particularly the back corners where little grows, with milkweed.  We do not know how the monarchs will find us.  I imagine there are monarch ways, just like the hobos used to draw pictures on the gates of kind people who would give them food for the journey.

As children
We collected
Milkweed pods,
Split them open,
Blew the seeds.
We ran
With nets,
Caught monarch butterflies,
Let them go.
Fifty-eight years on
Fifty-nine years on
We consider planting our backyard
Full of milkweed,
A specific butterfly garden.
We will place signs
On the rooftop
Only butterflies can read.
The signs will speak
Butterfly language.
We will offer a safe yard
For hungry monarchs.