In winter the light dazzles me, as in prayer this morning I rose to study blossoms of frost on the window, each tendril sparkling violet and gold as the sun rose through the frozen sky. Candlelight shuffles through the bedroom, deepening the already deepened silence. One moves through it gratefully, without hurry.
Sparrows rush the crows into distant pines, and later the crows circle back as they must, being my brothers ever since I first stumbled drunkenly across the world toward God. What departs returns, often bearing the gift we feared would expose our unworthiness. Give welcome then, without thought for what comes after.
A thousand stars, a familiar hymn. Those years in the forest, working out the interior rhythms, are gone now but without them this sentence would not exist. The fox pauses in a moonlit field and looks over his shoulder as if to say not now but soon.
It's okay, or it will be. Hour spent listening to my daughter work on fur elise are not lost. Our longing for answers implies many questions, which is a dubious premise, don't you think?
Later, I rise and make pancakes, wondering whether I will ever be as happy as the bluets. A certain resolve attends, and also a certain willingness. The dog sighs making room for you on the couch.
So many notes about trails to the sea! I warm the maple syrup before bringing it to you, and sit beside you while you eat, sensing at last what it means to go beyond words.