Saturday, January 18, 2025, 16* Light. Still.
Like a watercolor in the eastern sky ragged ribbons of gold, yellow, blue meld into pink. The rooster does not announce the day, the dog next door must be asleep. Cars do not hum their off to work tunes for many on a Saturday. Gray squirrel climbs a tree stops mid trunk watches in stillness disappears until he begins to climb again. When we are still do we disappear?
Once welcomed into the house it never completely disappears. This morning one of its tiny dots on the kitchen floor, another on my bed, by my chair, on a puppy paw. Like a bad mood, glitter spreads everywhere, attaches itself to shoes, mops, brooms carrying it easily from room to room.
Coffee drips. Sky paints new designs. Branches staid. Storm watch posted. Two linger outside Ruger rushes back for water.
"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen,
but on what is unseen, since what is seen
is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."
2 Corinthians 4:18 (NIV)
Art: LJ Austin
