. Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
The songs of whales enchant, though the words escape us.
He knows what she said but he is only beginning to hear it.
The garden lies empty and still, but beneath, it is neither.
She smiles, while within lies an underground lake.
The crayon squiggles hung on the fridge look festive, rough, and random.
No telling what it actually means to the mom who stuck it there,
or to the boy who drew that empty green shape
with the dot in it, that drooping blue line.
As when peering into a narrow hole, we always block our own light.
The artist conjures the surface of things precisely to get beyond it.
From an open window, blues sung low, something stretching farther down
than you can reach.
Deep Blessings, Pastor Steve
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes unfoldinglight(at)hotmail.com