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May, too, has its own snow, in the form of white seeded-fluff outside my study window; whispering breezes inch it along until lost in the grass or shrubs. Such transient beauty reminds me of long walks along the nearby creek where cottonwood trees flourish, the females yielding their seeds along the moist bank. Their heart-shaped leaves formed dense shade that often hushed me for the expected communion—It happened, amidst soft insects heralding life and tangled vines, immobile, from overhanging branches.

As spring’s cycle wanes the cottonwood seeding continues, littering the shredded seeds of oaks, maples, tulip trees mashed in gutters and sidewalks. From such destruction, greenness now wears a fresh fullness that will mature until stifled by harsh temperatures during the long months ahead.

Despite the stressed appearance of the natural world, new seeding, though buried, will again restore color to winter’s world. This remains our hope, and never has it been frustrated. 

So, too, with our bodies’ waning and death. Within it, we carry the seed of Eternal Life.

Spring’s whispers continue leafing out maples and oaks and casting lacy patterns of shade upon the road in front of us; within its transient beauty, we pause. A gossamer breeze tickles the overhanging branches and shimmers the shade into splinters of direction. A few steps further—sunlight squints our eyes until moseying within yet another shade-splotch and catching our breath before moving on.

A fitting analogy for the Sacred who gives light to those in dark places, to those in the shade of death, so that our feet may be guided into the way of peace. Luke 1: 79

For this, I yearn …

At 6:15 A.M., I awoke with these dreams:

I’ve joined a large group of animated women who are working for global peace. All wear dresses made of the same cotton fabric: blue with pastel flowers. My A-line dress with the scalloped hem fits perfectly.

The first dream emerging from my unconsciousness describes the total engagement of a large group of animated women, each distinct, but focused upon achieving global peace. I’m honored to be identified among them. Their task is daunting: developing relationship skills among all individuals and nations. Only heartfelt prayer can bring this about. Yet, this is happening and has been for all millennia. Planet Earth still survives, with yet another spring’s coloring.

A tall strong man hurries in my direction intent upon harming me. I see him and call out to him: “Such dithering nonsense! There’s nothing you can do to upset me. Besides, you’re not a man—Just a large fish, with scales scintillating in the sun. Quite distinctive, actually.”

The second dream depicts an ugly man, a nasty scoundrel: Scowling eyes, beefy biceps, and ropy muscles that ripple with each stride in hot pursuit of me. For some reason, I hold my ground and wait as he morphs into a large fish, with scales scintillating in the sun; their beauty stuns me.  

The Fish looks back at me and knows I’ve identified with its Greek equivalent icanthus: acronym standing for the ancient Christian symbol meaning Jesus Christ, God’s Son, Savior.  

Admittedly, such a tall strong man can accompany death’s assault upon body-mind-spirit, mine included, but it’s all a ruse. Beneath, lies release and eternal life, its foreshadowing, a welcome reprise as I wait.

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