Sabbath # 23

This morning I’m reading the difference between devotion and practice in Thich Nhat Hanh’s Living Budda, Living Christ. This week I began again the practice of Haiku, three a day. Copy them from one notebook to another. Ten years ago my friend, Lila and I sent each other a weekly postcard with a new haiku for one year. Our devotion and practice. The Holy Spirit. Buddha. Mindfulness. Prayer. Taking refuge in a moment: stillness of Autumn air, smell of apples baking with cinnamon, stem rising from a cup of tea, bells ringing from the steeple of the Presbyterian Church next door, my granddaughter’s voice three thousand miles away, saying when are you coming over here? Practice and devotion. Knowing when to take my pen in hand and write. Trusting the silence of the blank page. Trusting the blue-black ink that forms the letters: yellow rose booming / the last of the season / firewood stacked.

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