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Monday, August 8, 2011


Sanctuary isn't always found in marble and stone... you can find it in the sweet and simple. That doesn't always stop me from taking an occasional solo journey into a church... to smell the incense and the candle wax, the ancient books and the dust of ages... to listen to my own breathing in the air under an arched ceiling, and to quiet myself, in the sweetly scented air and feel the cloak of tradition and the joy of those who came, to feel truly small in the embrace of something that is larger than us.
"Lead me to the rock that is higher than I..."

Then there's waning summer, with its' chilly promise in the air, the grass beneath me, the sky above, watching the pinks, peaches, yellows, oranges, and blues softly fade to black and peer through the light pollution for the ever-changing moon and the twinkling stars. A blanket of black velvet, a cloak fit for a king, with softly twinkling gems and the occasional red light of an airplane headed to the airport in the east.
Still in thin cotton and shorts, feeling the promise of autumn and already catching the decay... the tree not far away that the Japanese beetles hit, to feast on tender leaf, leaving only a frame and lattice work, beautiful in austere death. And wishing upon a star... the old rhyme my father taught me... "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the first wish I wish tonight..."
and twiddling a damaged leaf in my fingers perhaps without thinking, seeing through the oddly beautiful lace work left behind by devastation, the glory in the sky above... and maybe hope for a blacker night, just to dream away under the soft twinkle.

And feeling the promise of chill and devastation, of winter and its' charms and pains in the air and in my bones...

There's cars big as bars, and rivers of gold, but the wind goes right through you, it's no place for the old..._ Fairytale of New York, by the Pogues

There is still beauty in that which is damaged...
And just maybe, there's somewhere for me. For now, it's on a hill, in the waning summer, dreaming.

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