Thursday, April 3, 2025, 31.3*
Peering through the glass, treetops appear as faint charcoal strokes, below that only black. No snow on limbs, no rain on windowpanes. In this light ice is not something I can see.
Salted sand, diminishing like piles of snow, there’s enough to throw over nubby ice to create a safe passage to a fenced-in land. Softly rain bathes everything; wind caresses our faces, plays a melody in the trees.
The three return to me, to be dried, to get a biscuit, to sleep peacefully.
You will keep in perfect peace
those whose minds are steadfast,
because they trust in you.
Isaiah 26:3
ART: LJ Austin
