Sabbath #26

Yesterday, frost, the grasses covered to mid morning. Today, fog. Deeper in the back yard than the front. Farther from one creek, closer to another. Fitting for February. Damp. Cold.  What questions would you like to ask your heart? written on the back page of a book I read sometime ago. I reopened that book this morning. Looking for words I’d forgotten. Rain now and silence. No rushing. One more hour.  This week, not resignation but surrender, noticing the ocean’s light, naming it.  The smell of salt. Measuring my days, remaining. Crossing the bay in darkness. Words fall, in place. A generosity of winter. The labyrinth in the front yard still imagined, existing nevertheless. I walk it most every day. It is useful, grass under foot. And soil. Damp or not.