“The river” is a thing, but always in motion. So never really the same. It couldn’t be “the river” without its unmoving bed.
Hours earlier, these droplets formed out of the morning mist. Settled here, they endow even greater beauty to an already beautiful image of God’s presence in nature’s cathedral. On this altar, these droplets are separate, yet from and of the same substance. The same essence. They will, hours from now, be transformed, imperceptibly, still theContinue reading “Angels In the Mist”
Light and shadows at once. The dark sides of trees against a lit up lawn and sky. The light and the shade both suck us in. And we suck in light and shadow. We are both. We are neither. We are the full scene. And more. A more without end.
Do you think we mistake a broken ego for a broken heart?