The week’s work had taken a toll upon both body and heart. The week’s work is also a fervent prayer answered and gifted. The weekend began with huge demands upon a weary body to tend to the yard. The yard was a “dare not to dream it could be” that became mine and now is my sanctuary. Today is my mama’s birthday, a date while I was growing up I somehow always got wrong and could not remember. I remember now because its month and day is three before the date my father died. A date I remember.

The dance of contrasts is a reflection that leaves me in awe. The image of the raven whispered to come and look again.  Unlike the moon, the raven is bound to the earth. Yet gravity cannot hold him. Leaving his earthen perch his wings caress the mesa’s grasses. A promise to return? A whisper of gratitude? Another dance of contrasts as rootedness takes flight? Or perhaps a reminder to hold all experience rooted without grasping. A tender gentle touch and then the flight and dance.