Women’s work: for mother and daughter, work goes on hour by hour. They grind the grain into flour, make a paste by adding water, and place the dough onto a stone in the smoky oven. They work to the bone in the sweltering heat while the men gathered in the temple are cool and clean.
Don’t look back in sorrow at the wrongs you did to others or the wrong beliefs you held. Sorrow is not the ask of Jesus or John the Baptist. Nothing you say or do
will change what you said or did, don’t you see? Peter paused to let that sink in. Instead, he said, reorient yourself to a new way of life, starting today, with baptism in the name of Jesus
and acceptance of the Holy Spirit. Some in the crowd turned away from Peter’s altar call, but three thousand came forward and took on their new identities as the People of the Way.
To the human eye, the cornfield empties itself of value for the rest of the year.
Ragged rows of stubble stretch to the fog-bleared tree line.
Large puddles of freezing rainwater and patches of old snow punctuate the dun-horse devastation.
The autumn crop is obedient to the point of death.
Tranquility is shattered by a rising crescendo of trumpeter swans haggling over their landing spots.
Gleaners from the far north fill their bellies with the final treasures of the field, then rise in unison to the heavens, each as heavy as a small suitcase at Sea-Tac, necks fully extended, bleating furiously, as they bolt for the breeding grounds.
The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.
John 3:8
Wind over the lake—desiccate leaves scrape indolently at our feet, like the years. We feel the chill of the restless wind.
Fall’s maelstrom of reds and golds is all around. The cool, invisible hand lifts silvering hair.
We are entering autumn of our time together. Some leaves have fallen, but many remain, waiting to be plucked by wind over the lake.
NOTE: On this date, March 5, 2023, Nancy and I celebrate our 57th anniversary. We were married at the Church of the Redeemer, Kenmore. Fr. Roy Coulter officiated.
To the east, news-crawler clouds scrape the mountains, hiding the higher elevations. A kaleidoscope of rain, wind, and fog turns and turns again its swirl of gunmetal gray over the lowlands.
A friend of mine comes from the Great Plains to the Kent Valley at the beginning of the forty days of gloom. He wonders: is the air like this always with these speed-of-a-slug cloud-rags, and the rains?
Today, on day forty-one, the veil is lifted when cold north winds chase the gray and set the Cascade Range in clear relief against the blue, and he is blown away when Mt. Rainier brandishes its swaggering pride four thousand meters above the countryside.