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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