Thursday. 3:33 pm.
As the month closes, I feel anew. Whole. Sorry for the absence, I’ve had some wounds to lace and new plumbing to embrace. Now, all’s good and perfect. I can tell you for certain that all’s good and perfect! Thanks all for the everythings that have been done for me by you. I struggle for the words.
Illustrating these past few weeks, I’ll leave you with some demanding words from one of the Irishmen and a couple of my favorite shots taken from this past weekend’s unhindered runnings about:
Shifting brilliancies. Then winter light
In a doorway, and on the stone doorstep
A beggar shivering in silhouette.
So the particular judgement might be set:
Bare wallstead and a cold hearth rained into –
Bright puddle where the soul-free cloud-life roams.
And after the commanded journey, what?
Nothing magnificent, nothing unknown.
A gazing out from far away, alone.
And it is not particular at all,
Just old truth dawning: there is no next-time-round.
Unroofed scope. Knowledge-freshening wind.
– SH, from Squarings: Lightenings, 1991.
I’ve become healed.