With morning comes the weight again.

The antidote.

Sun sparkle on the leaves of a tender tree.

Deep, variegated greens of the leaves of a mature tree nearby.

Shadows on the hills across the valley.

The stillness of the morning.

The sky—pale blue and dusted with haze.

I wish it was clear blue and sunny. Hot.

But this is what we get today and it’s still a miracle I watch unfold.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.

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