Standing here

Dearly Beloved, Grace and Peace to you.                    

I am trying to stand here among snow-bowed trees and softly buried grasses but my breath escapes me in little vanishing schools of fish, the snow patiently falling makes me a distant mountain, the trees' hidden roots thread me deep into the earth, the clouds make sign language that I belong to the sky. For a moment I am close to just being here but the blackbirds swing down and carry me off on their black wings to          —I don't know where.                   I don't know at all.

                    Deep Blessings, Pastor Steve

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