This morning, just above the southeast corner of a building I pass on my quotidian amble, there was a perfect half-moon reverently singing her praise for creation from the helio-cradle of morning’s rise. The desire to stop and gaze with intention was stronger than any concern about catching either a bus or a cup of coffee in my back from another on her morning path who hadn’t noticed that the journeyer in front was resting a moment.
Then, on the approach to school, the time-weathered beauty living at the end of the street shook her arms and head at me. “Look at my new bangles!” “Look at my bows!” She laughed, and raised herself to the wind, letting the new day brush through her branchy spring green tangles.
"It is a good day for living/a good day for praise/a day to delight/a day to amaze…"
Yet, within all of this, the question that looms for me is how to incorporate this with the spread in this morning's NYT outlining the specific methods and techniques of torture used by the CIA.
Alleluia, he is risen...and not a moment too soon.