Warming to Skin Temperature

A single strand of spider silk takes on the color of my own hair in August lateness. Heat swells keep building but the garden doesn't seem to mind. The hydrangea have had enough though.

and Lake Michigan
lapping as if exhausted
my feet

Green-for-now maple leaves overlapping each other with gradient light. I am in love and I love and I am love.

With you, with us, going beyond the personality needs. When one is not afraid of losing something, everything changes, no? No longer working to hold onto to that which cannot be lost.

The heart as an intimate doorway to God.

Maybe for me there has always been a sense of Love as a river but it was my heart a the helm, navigating the eddies and rapids and stills. Now, it seems as if my heart was merely an invitation to arrive – allow – admit.

lady flicker
unconcerned on the park path –
savor what remains

Cool crystal against my breast, warming to skin temperature. It reminds me who I am – love incarnate, light-bearing healer, and perfectly nobody.

And yet . . .a beam of purple light mingles with the love of all our iterations to reveal a possible answer for “what if.”