Dearly Beloved, Grace and Peace to you.
Walking among trees being stripped, the graveyard of colors at my feet,
branches above slowly being robbed, air chilling, reaching farther into me,
I can't shake the gentle dread that something more will be required,
something taken, or outgrown, requiring a reckoning of grief,
no loss God wants to save me from, no turning that I want to miss,
a coming free that will not feel like such, a birth resembling autumn's lovely death.
I know no other passage through these woods. The small path reaches out to me.
I feel my breathing, steady, slow and small. The forest turns around me as I go.
Mist rises from the farm field to the west, that slowly fills with yellow morning light.
Deep Blessings, Pastor Steve
__________________ Steve Garnaas-Holmes Unfolding Light www.unfoldinglight.net
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