Wednesday, August 7, 2013


Roads formerly unpaved now bear the crushed bodies of crickets to Heaven.

Deer step slowly through the marsh, forever away.

It is like that, this life.

It leaves us.

Or it seems to leave.

Be glad in your heart for you are not of the world, she writes.

Her letter arrives like a cloud passes over a landscape.

Who is outside of time is always here and cannot leave.

The very Love that is God is in your heart if you will only say yes to it, she writes.

Her letters are often one or two paragraphs only - an old lady scrawling on crumpled stationary - but this one is almost two pages.

It smells like cardamom.

I carry it with me into the forest where a quarter century ago loggers ripped the place clear.

Baby bears tumble through it now, hooting after their Momma.

Chickadees sing.

A letter is like the person stands before you and speaks quietly into your ear, her hand on your shoulder.

It is not like a photograph which only reminds us of absence.

Do not question your decisions once you make them, she says.

Either your will aligns with God or it does not, in which case God will realign it.

We need do so little!

How I love you (she writes) and think of you often and no prayer I utter is but for you.

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