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Wispy white clouds swirl the sun’s golden finger paints across the tree-tops in arcs, and I shudder against the cold. Soon night will fall.
My tennis shoes beat a rhythm on the pavement while frigid air bellows in and out, in and out, stinging my lips and steaming up my glasses.
The day fades. My heart clings to remembrance, longing, hope.
Several swans fly overhead, their giant wings pounding and cutting the air to make a path leading to some safe place.
Me too, Lord. Part of me soars in Your heavenly realm to escape confinement in a place of warmth, comfort, shelter. And yet I am not there…yet…but am on this journey and must keep walking, one step at a time, knowing night is near.
Gray clouds descend, blotting the gold and shoving it down, down behind the trees. Time will not stand still.
Neither will I.
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Dear Beth, as always...I love your sharings and your special way of discribing what you see. Merry Christmas, Jacque