Sabbaths Abound

"To leaven means to lighten," a simple fact I borrow from a 1936 cookbook and take as the day's homily against so much grief and despair. We should not overly miss the geese who so quickly disappeared beyond the mountain this morning, and yet the geese are gone who this morning we begged to be a sign for us of love. Sabbaths abound but there is one that neither comes nor goes, and it is that sabbath to which my attention is now given. We are blessed who forget our blessing and are compelled to reconstitute it daily out of work and family and weather and the mail. The rain doesn't worry where it falls, and snowflakes don't buy tickets for the museum. When I walk, I walk with you, and when I clean and repair old furniture on the back porch, I clean and repair it there for you, but you have no name and do not live anywhere. Is it clear now? There is this wind, there is this pasture, there is this moment where the two are one, and the one remembers how it all came apart in the flood.