It is amazing to see it light at 6:36. Ah, the sky is turning mauve. I have never had a use for that word before, but today it fits.
The infection is definitely still fighting away in my breast, and I feel well. It is just odd to feel a squirmish there.
I was grateful that I could greet the morning news yesterday with tears rather than anger. I think it is a sign of softening, and reaching that pool of love underneath where I prefer to more and more dwell.
I want to offer a poem this morning. What comes to mind? Ah, William Stafford!
by William Stafford
The seed that met water spoke a little name.
(Great sunflowers were lording the air that day;
this was before Jesus, before Rome; that other air
was readying our hundreds of years to say things
that rain has beat down on over broken stones
and heaped behind us in many slag lands.)
Quiet in the earth a drop of water came,
and the little seed spoke: "Sequoia is my name."