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I am glad—Still more to be gleaned from my study window this morning:

The finest mist freezes, midair, and saturates the plank fence across the backyard; it decomposes the twiggy circumference of the empty sparrow’s nest, from the summer, lodged among branches of the snowflake verbena. A few of its monkish leaves still clings as if grieving the loss of the chick’s family.

Beneath the shrub, the crystal droplet swells from the tip of a fallen leaf, its indecision like a toddler’s first steps: there is security in holding on.

Sudden movement in the corner of the yard distracts me. A mature squirrel, its pelt blending with the trunk of the London plane tree, pauses, then scrambles to a higher limb and disappears. Below, snow swirls pattern the bleached grass with feathery fingers. More melting islands of what looks likes snow creates rivulets across the pavers of my patio and slinks into the muddy corners, across more spent leaves. The ground appears juicy, its remote preparation for spring, in the making. The softest of breezes seems to slumber this world, dormant with life.

Prayer easily follows sloshing around in play boots stamped with ladybugs.

I shall pour clean water over you and you will be cleansed…of all your defilement. I shall give you a new heart, and put a new spirit in you; I shall remove your heart of stone from your bodies and give you heart of flesh instead… so proclaimed the prophet Ezekiel in the Oracle against the Nations (36:25-26).

The year was after 587 BCE, the fall of Jerusalem, when he joined the captives in Babylon, in sore need of spiritual support.  

We, too, need hearts of flesh, given the destruction caused by Hurricane Ida that further traumatized the global wound.

We’ve only to ask …

At 7:45 A. M, I awoke with this curious dream:

It is night. I’d spent the day in a great hall with a large mixed group of people who completed several important projects. Before leaving for our homes, a priest informs us that the archbishop wished to give us an ice cream bar. 

The night always symbolizes the end times that usher in darkness, the unknown. More than ever with the imperceptible increase in my symptoms, I move closer to the end time of this existence. With full consciousness, I still strive to adhere to my daily routine of self-care that include blogging and reading David McCullough’s John Adams (2004), and receiving the support of my helpers.

The great hall suggests my psyche’s unclutteredness, spaciousness, a place for working and playing. The large mixed group of people speaks of my harmonious energies dedicated to the completion of several important projects, symbolic of my ongoing purification, in preparation for my transition.

The priest, disguised as a messenger for the archbishop/God in disguise, announces our reward: ice cream bars: rich vanilla, coated with chocolate and pecans. They look yummy. At first, I avoid their milky softness and sugar, triggers for joint inflammations in my body. Then, I learn this is a different kind of treat:

As the psalmist proclaims, “Taste and see that the Lord is good.”

It’s true. My waiting continues …

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