Tuesday, July 15, 2008
FROM MORNING DRIVE JOURNAL
JULY 16, 2002
Warm, yesterday. We've got haze and sunlight again today, another warm combination. Each day a blessing; each day a cup to be filled. Why do we sometimes insist on smashing the cup, spilling the gift, losing grace. We think we know what we need. When we get what we need we don't recognize it. We prefer our blindness to taking the cure. If the news isn't what we want to hear, we don't believe it. Sometimes truth is a good smash in the mouth.
No wind in the flag at the cemetery. Corn leaves are curled upward; bless us, they are asking. There are blossoms on the beans. Grasses in the ditches are headed out. North of Five Corners, the orange of some day lilies in the usual patch.
JULY 16, 2002
Warm, yesterday. We've got haze and sunlight again today, another warm combination. Each day a blessing; each day a cup to be filled. Why do we sometimes insist on smashing the cup, spilling the gift, losing grace. We think we know what we need. When we get what we need we don't recognize it. We prefer our blindness to taking the cure. If the news isn't what we want to hear, we don't believe it. Sometimes truth is a good smash in the mouth.
No wind in the flag at the cemetery. Corn leaves are curled upward; bless us, they are asking. There are blossoms on the beans. Grasses in the ditches are headed out. North of Five Corners, the orange of some day lilies in the usual patch.
