My world is trying to wake up and join me. I can barely make out the trees in our yard, and tiny boat lights across the river tell me someone is readying for a duck hunt. I sit in front of the fire, the smell of incense fills our small home as I finish praying, and now set about the more difficult task of writing. I am listening to soft clarinet music while my dog and lover sleep soundly behind me. “When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, It is well. It is well with my soul.” My world is slightly more awake, and I have found I have written.
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| Altar building in the mountains yesterday. |
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