20

Fall comes, or seems to.

The clouds drift higher and the grackles assemble in wheeling flocks.

Pumpkins swell in rainy gardens and apples drag on wizened branches in the secret orchard.

At night one pulls the quilt closer.

One dreams not of death anymore but - oddly - of satisfaction in many forms and settings.

Is it happiness at last?

Or acquiescence?

Her letters come, or seem to.

"My prayer is always with you and will guide you accordingly if you allow it."

It is so much easier when a body is present!

On the calendar I have placed a small check on the day she will next arrive.

The vase of flowers on the living room table looks tired but we are running out of options in the field.

Snowflakes with haiku on them - a spring project with the kids - sift off the wall as the tape dries.

My students are tired too and come to tears easily.

"Always remember there is only one thing and it is always in motion," she writes.

I try to remember but it is hard.

"When the day begins, make time for God, as much as you can, in silence and stillness, and at the end of the day too, and in between as frequently as possible, and do not deviate from this but make it your practice."

She urges me to consider attention in the nature of a gift.

Practice the given.

She says who lingers on reciprocity is bound to sorrow.