Thursday, December 18, 2003

out like a lamb

Nothing to say. Plenty to feel. How can I keep from blogging? The deckeoumént takes place on leather sofas. Hazy room. C’tron, DP, Mitchy, Gwillie, Timbo, your’s truly. loblolly.jpgAn afternoon moment that we’ll revisit for years to come. The whimper of so many whimpers whose whimpership didn’t really matter when there was more to come. Went out like a lamb.oak.jpgProbably just the way Austin will be entered. Quiet, embodiment of the Gospel, backed by the whimpered supplication of the deck crew. Groan. Spirit, translate the moanings. Father, only You can answer these questions. Even in doing so, You don’t always tell us. Trust Me, You say. Give us strength to trust.
seguaro.jpgFor such a time as this. The time is the same for us all. But the places. We are being broadcast. Brought together from Maine, South Carolina, Texas, West Virginia. While the fields are plowed we discuss our germination. We are dropped into the hopper and the crank is turned. We land in the soil prepared for our particular embryo. Far and wide. Germination. Growth. Pollination. Harvest. Oaks. Evergreens. Cacti. Water us. Shield us from the insects. Grow us organic, nothing artificial, nothing synthetic. Prune us. Keep us connected to the Vine.