Saturday, November 5, 2016
Quietly the Steam Trails Away
Perhaps I am not meant to accept these gifts? Perhaps it is okay to say no thank you and instead sit quietly out back watching the horses? Would the Lord allow anyone to be injured by another's misconception of love? Or is it that I am only just now remembering it was always my decision to make intimacy conditional on crucifixion? Pushing noon and the frost still hasn't melted all the way so I put up the mower and drink coffee on the back porch. It's cold but not too cold, breezy but not too breezy. Welcome brother cardinal! Salutations sister junco! For the first time since Dad died Chrisoula and I fight, and the sadness is like drowning in a river. What is this pain that seems to go wherever I go? There are so many currents, so many seams! Anyway, at 4 a.m. I dress with the lights off so as not to wake her, then forsake prayer in order to submerge myself in unfamiliar texts. How happy we are, from time to time, in spite of it all. How quietly the steam trails away from the mug.