The morning is mist and I try to hold it but it slips through my fingers again. I am thinking about manna, about the Bread of Life, and how do you breathe when it’s time to say goodbye? I take it to the sidewalk. I don’t think about the blue of the sky or the way the sun plays on water or the noise of traffic in my ears. My feet are pounding that rhythm that my body knows and I wait for the breath to even; I wait for the muscles to warm. I am lost in my head—immune to that busy hum of life that breathes around me.
And suddenly there’s beauty.
And this is Autumn: reams and reams of gold spun on green and I am rich as I gather with my eyes. It’s right there, between two lots of the ordinary. Between houses and a trophy shop…behind a photographer’s studio. If I look close enough, I can see there used to be something else there. A house? A barn? Are these memories of the time when this land thrummed with the riches of farm and pasture? These remnants of decay—long-forgotten—blink at me now through a pollen haze. I wonder what it was and how it must have filled this space.
And when did beauty fill the gap?
I wonder at how the passing of time can cover so many things. How long does it take for emptiness to fill? And how does beauty move in so silently, so quiet-like and with such grace? It’s the way the world turns—that slow spin from one season to the next. The whole earth a grace story.
Let your empty be filled today. Open your arms wide for grace. Let beauty enter in. The seeds are preparing for the long sleep…waiting for light to grow.