In the spring when the tide of renewal flows over me, I feel re-embedded in wholeness. The sweet spirit of being-filled-from-within by sky-grace-flowers
cleanses the drive from me. I have laid down the calendar book, which was a metronome over a cliff.
Tonight thunderstorms loom and the sky greens in spring heat. I hope for the fire that is brighter even than magnolia blossoms, something to mark the path to stars and planets. A jagged walkway, sudden, liminal, luminal, stark. Instead of parking, we wander in the city thrum twilight. Even though there are no storms tonight, the promise of illumination keeps me moving, hoping, breathing.