Sun here on this long peninsula. In the geographical north, by degrees, it grows cold, slick and late February bleak. Here? Well….
The moods, the memories, the tempermental weather of white and gray, the anxieties, the mitigating prayers, the high clouds over the Gulf, the little pieces of caught convertion, the despair, the hope, the search, unrelenting, for the God Who, somehow, destined this journey for us — all this daily sweeps over us in sunlight or in darkness, in waves and gusts, in great oceanic breakers. We stand on the shore….
Words, The Word. Help. Let them, let Him, come to us — on the shore.
“We turn toward the town…the glassy lights….” Wallace Stevens, The Idea of Order at Key West.
Fragments.
February 25, 2022.
19 Cent Notebook 