All Sacrificing Ended

Delicate Morning Glories blooming fresh and wild like dawn along the dirt road. A fine mist took us by surprise but its cool softness was not unwelcome. Sometimes wind in the pines picking up vim makes me think that I can still hear the river rushing down the mountainside. Water, always water – but who knew the brooks and streams of your beloved Vermont would be deeper than my oceanic lakes? No turtles but trout. No moose but bears.

I made him Kenyan coffee and was pleased with the robust taste at altitude. How height translates at the bean level. How your delight meant everything.

Mom calls and along with all the other texts and messages, I decline to connect. They will worry soon but I'm not ready to let anyone in. Sure, love is shooting out of my pores like a glitter-bomb-rave-detonation. And yet, to speak the answer of “how are you” would mean sharing something that prefers soundless knowing over the clang and driving beat of the world.

A collection of stones, flowers and a hawk feather. Altars as decoration now that all sacrificing is finished. I know the kiss of God. And it has made me more human. Drop the reigns and watch me run!

I forgot to drink the river water. Now I must return.