Starting off with wind that is "beating...invisible fists and...whining...high and arrogant cries," Spring Break has become quiet.
The campus has evacuated, leaving few of us behind. No one seems to mind the solitude. It leaves space in which to breath, laze, and prepare food we actually want to eat.
I can listen to music like this as loud as I want and yet choose to listen to it softly.
I can lie on roofs, watching the outlines of twisted branches darken against the brightening moon and lie in wonder at the creation of such magnitudes as God's sovereignty over the weather that caused the tree to twist just so. I can choose to not think about how far away the moon is, much less the stars because I'm already in wonder at simple things like stringing words together into poetry. I can climb, numb-toed down the ladder to the porch, scuffle across the carpet to warm up, and then talk for hours on a wakefulness helped by warm cups of tea with honey and skim milk.
I can fall asleep in a sleeping bag, hugged by the couch, stuffing my nose into the corners that smell vaguely and comfortingly of pottery clay.
And there is still family to come on Tuesday and time to take a nap.
Good LORD, You bless me.
The campus has evacuated, leaving few of us behind. No one seems to mind the solitude. It leaves space in which to breath, laze, and prepare food we actually want to eat.
I can listen to music like this as loud as I want and yet choose to listen to it softly.
I can lie on roofs, watching the outlines of twisted branches darken against the brightening moon and lie in wonder at the creation of such magnitudes as God's sovereignty over the weather that caused the tree to twist just so. I can choose to not think about how far away the moon is, much less the stars because I'm already in wonder at simple things like stringing words together into poetry. I can climb, numb-toed down the ladder to the porch, scuffle across the carpet to warm up, and then talk for hours on a wakefulness helped by warm cups of tea with honey and skim milk.
I can fall asleep in a sleeping bag, hugged by the couch, stuffing my nose into the corners that smell vaguely and comfortingly of pottery clay.
And there is still family to come on Tuesday and time to take a nap.
Good LORD, You bless me.
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