06 March 2014

some days

So much beauty piles up around me that I lose most of it. I try to capture it--wrestle it onto a page or into a metered cage--but so much of it slips through my fingers.

From the sun that fell on the wall and darted down the hall that morning a week ago, to the beauty of the music filling the room. From the clutched, three-handed fist of community in pain to the way the Lord throws forgiveness over me like a blanket, tucking in the edges. From the surprise pot of tea that I forgot about and which reached perfection in the cold to the way the wooden kitchen floor felt while we made dinner.

The way that her soft red hair smelled as I kissed the top of her head or how I've never seen her so happy as she was sitting on the floor, her hands clenched into fists.

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