mornings in Colorado call to me. I feel it all again like the sunburn on my cheekbones, warm with remembrance, blossoming freckles.
(still changing, growing.)
my close friend and I shared a space in the spare room of another friend and rose to the sound of voices upstairs praying, sometimes singing. when I awoke (almost two months later) this would be what I remember the most.
today the wheat is no longer dark green, lush and short. it is taller now, lighter, brighter. it reflects the sun with its tiny shiny faces and little arms reaching up in the wind, on the cusp of turning golden.
we are on the cusp of turning golden. we are on the edge of days filled with parades and poolsides, tailgate picnics on the hill and wildflower pollen staining the hems of our shirts and chigger bite welts on bare thighs. can you feel it?
when he told me 'honey, it's alright' through my headphones and the rain, part of me knew it would be wise to believe it instantly. so I did.
I don't know how to explain this; somewhere in the middle of Kansas, I'm burning up a tank of gas and listening to an audiobook while driving the interstate at dusk, keeping an eye on distant lighting. I am content.
there is a line and a story connected to each one of those things, but there's no time for that now. what I want you to do is to pack up your sorrows, unplug your hard drive and do not be afraid to ride your bike off the curb. stop riding in circles looking for an easy way down.
daily we are tasting mercy undeserved. (dawn is breaking now)
