Grace and Peace to you.
The woods are all around, all around. Night sky wraps itself about me, snow cherubs sitting in the trees, ornaments made of stars hanging in bare branches, the snow rounding everything up to the next nearest shape. The snow, not cold enough to squeak, shuffles as I walk, making sounds like turning over in bed. A skinny, pre-pubescent moon follows me without wavering. I walk out into the meadow, look up, and the trees are gone but not the ornaments, or the shy little moon. I remember riding in a car, real young, dark out, forehead against the window, amazed that the moon rode with us, shooting through the trees, slipping behind buildings and reappearing, so calm, right there, staring at me. All these years later, she's still here. Standing on the belly of the earth I can feel the earth breathing in her sleep under this dream of snow. What you said to me walks beside me; I turn around and even in the dark there is it, breathing little clouds. I carry the bundle of my body out here, with warmth I got earlier, from the sun I guess, and from food from some far places. My blood is a wild animal that stalks, close, always hidden. My breath isn't mine; each breath is given to me and given again, though I can't see it in the dark. I believe I am made of this stuff: snow and stars and puffs of breath. Turning for home, I think there is no such thing as all alone.
Deep Blessings, Pastor Steve
Copyright © 2010 Steve Garnaas-Holmes firstname.lastname@example.org