Another gray day with wind and rain. I stay inside, dry and warm, and listen to silence. I brew tea, and read books; wash floors and dust furniture. And talk to the Yorkie now and then. Peace.
It starts to feel like it has always been winter. Cabin fever sets in. I bring some tulips home and arrange them in a vase. A bit of spring on my table. In silent solitude I sit with my camera and find peace among the waxy petals. Later, when I take the Yorkie outside I
It’s too loud. The cacophony has risen to such a level that I struggle to hear. There’s just too much. Of everything. Snow falls, unwelcome on this last day of February, but with it comes a whisper. And a beckoning. I step outside with the Yorkie and, as white feathers fall around me, a blanket of
I am haunted now as I never was before by the sense that we all of us have the mark of God’s thumb upon us. We have the image of God within us. We have a holy place within us that gets messed up in a million ways. But it’s there, and more and more
The speed and pace of our life here in this country, the noise and the demand of it, the sheer unadulterated motion of it, are almost too much for me to cope with. Robert Benson, Between the Dreaming and the Coming True: The Road Home to God Sometimes, it’s too much. ”I’m just going to
But your solitude will be a support and a home for you, even in the midst of very unfamiliar circumstances, and from it you will find all your paths. Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet We decide to take advantage of another warm and sunny afternoon to clean out the front flowerbed. I take
We live in an age when skim reading seems to be the new normal, and so we’re in constant danger of skimming ourselves to death. Certainly some books ought to be skimmed. . . But if we aren’t careful, our ability to do deep reading will become a constant and losing struggle. Karen Swallow Prior Dark