 "For He remembers we are but dust." Psalm 103:14
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"Solvitur ambulando."
It is solved by walking. - St. Augustine "Life is sacramental: the outward signs reveal the inward grace. The outward sign of bread and wine at this altar are what they are — real bread from the earth and wine, the fruit of the vine — and yet they are revelatory of more, of Jesus’ real presence. That sacramental principle is a template for life. The whole of life is intended to be like that: sacramental. It is what it is, and yet it is symbolic of something more, a channel of revelation." Br. Curtis Almquist SSJE
Love is little, love is low, Love will make our spirits grow, Grow in peace, grow in light, Love will do the thing that's right. Love is gentle, love is small, Love will find the best of all, Find the peace, find the light, Love will do the thing that's right. Love is silent, love is strong, Love will sing a quiet song, Sing of peace, sing of light, Love will do the thing that's right. Love is wonder, love is grace, Love will bind all in its place; Bind the peace, bind the light, Love will do the thing that's right. Love iii
by George Herbert Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, If I lacked any thing. A guest, I answered, worthy to be here: Love said, You shall be he. I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear, I cannot look on thee. Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I? Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame Go where it doth deserve. And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame? My dear, then I will serve. You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat: So I did sit and eat. Source: George Herbert and the Seventeenth-Century Religious Poets (W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1978)  Juncos daily at the feeder. Juncos vary in appearance across North America and are ground birds, hoppers, of the sparrow family.
January Wind
"The January wind has a hundred voices. It can scream, it can bellow, it can whisper, and it can sing a lullaby. It can roar through the leafless oaks and shout down the hillside, and it can murmur in the white pines rooted among the granite ledges where lichen makes strange hieroglyphics. It can whistle down a chimney and set the hearth to dancing. On a sunny day it can rattle the sash and stay there muttering of ice and snowbanks and deep-frozen ponds. Sometimes the January wind seems to come from the farthest star in the outer darkness, so remote and so impersonal is its voice. That is the wind of a January dawn, in the half-light that trembles between day and night. It is a wind that quivers the trees, its force sensed but not seen, a force that might almost hold back the day if it were so directed. Then the east brightens, and the wind relaxes -- the stars, it source, grown dim." -- Hal Borland |
"Ideas won't keep; something must be done about them."
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