Liturgy #2 from the Email Series We believe, O Creator, that when You shaped us in our inmost beings, You saw all You made and said it was good.
Originally posted on Laura Kauffman:
Watch: it always comes right when you expect it least. The light slants, enchants; your spirit, wakening, hums and rouses the sleeping beast.
This poem was born as a note roughly scribbled in a notebook. I wrote it from deep in the Black Hills of South Dakota, as I drank coffee on the porch and marveled at how loud the silence was. i close the door and exhale
I woman, mother, writer, friend AM breathe in, breathe out, foot down, grab hand NOT
I sang the Magnificat over the garden. It died anyway. He has not forgotten.
I should be writing. The literary trifecta are in reach: laptop, coffee, Annie Dillard books. But even so, I can’t stop watching the breeze play with the steam off my coffee. It’s mesmerizing, like a hands-on lava lamp. Just as the sunlight catches the swirls, they vanish. Diffused. It’s normal and romantic, ethereal and earthy. … Read More
My county is under water. The levees broke, the rains fell, and we collectively moved to higher ground.