Friday, December 23, 2005

Enthuse This

Each year, at winter solstice, I hold my breath. Will this be the year in which I lean too far out into the dark ? Will the tethers give and let me plunge into the open mawed fall frightful of absolute dark and absolute cold ?

The sun noodles away at a great distance. Gravity and light dwindle. In the impending dark, activity continues:





Ora pro nobis.

Raw, bloodless, dry and gaunt, I look for comfort midair.

My reach falls short. My fingers fail.

But something at the last minute catches me, and holds me fast.

Surround, I pray. And ground.

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