Photo courtesy of ALTARWORK
I should have been home today. Waking in my old room to the rumblings of family downstairs. Driving the oh so familiar road past the old Lutheran church, around the quiet curve of neighborhood until I reached the little white house on the acre and a half lot. Sitting on the blue checkered couch that always curls into my body as I visit with my grandparents, who lift their voices in delight when I walk through their kitchen door.
I should have been looking into the laughing eyes of my brother, mint and intelligent, clear and kind. I should have been by the lake, sized small and insignificant beside its blue body.
Instead, I ran like my lungs never give out in the brisk morning air. I talked with God about the tender places of my heart, listened while He told me to trust Him with what I cherish most.
Some people gather wildflowers; I collect leaves for my bouquet, stopping my cool down walk to bend and pick russet speckled leaves and hold them gently in my hands, paper thin veins darkening the bright yellow. Some are still damp with drops from last night’s rain. My pile grows plump as I linger on the path; I will press them into cards I mail to those I care for, so they can have a piece of me from this city that no longer looms so unfamiliar.
Read more of my latest post at ALTARWORK here!
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