My garden in the sky.

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Back to my personal place, the place that’s me, where I can watch unnoticed all that passes below, partake in the vibes of distant conversations without being burdened by understanding or reply. A place where the sky fills two thirds of my vision, and surprises me in sudden glimpses of breathtaking splendor, where I can see the far off hills, be aware of the old church, rooted through the centuries, without the need to visit. Here were God seems closer than my last week away.

Yes that house is far bigger, it has not just a balcony by a beautiful ornate garden, not just  bathrooms, but outdoor hot tub. It’s far more beautifully furnished than mine, has spare bedrooms, a library and study, even a working fireplace and chimney. All these things I love, yet it seems empty even when all the  family are there. The dog is my comfort, we sit, each missing in our different ways. I rub his ears and watch too many movies in an effort to pass the time till my duties are over and I can pass it all back to its rightful owners.

They like it here, anyone would, it has everything ones heart could desire, all but one, my little garden in the sky is the place God and I chat, a place of renewing, somehow his humility doesn’t sit well with opulence – neither does my heart.

It reminds me of a favourite song:

“Make me the king of a vast domain,

With cups of pleasure to ease the pain.

I’d hate it all without Him…”

Life is like that, things can never fill the empty place within. It’s so good to be home where everything reflects our life together, small, cosy, warm spirited – here I can write again.

Above the waves.

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Currents surged and tossed her,

Sharp prongs tore at her flesh in passing.

She was overwhelmed.

The surge of humanity,

The tide of evil,

The depths of depression.

Disorientated she could not find the light,

The way to the sky she remembered as a child.

Limbs convulsed

She sank beneath the weight of her wounds.

Struggle ceased.

Then,

As muscle relaxed,

Air dwindling,

A force of nature revived.

Her being floated slowly upward

Towards its natural element

Light and air burst upon her

Filthy water streamed from her face

Eyes encompassed by light rejoiced.

She saw an extended hand and grasped it

Yielding all to the strength of its creator.

Comfort in grief.

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(Excerpt of a letter from Ben Franklin to the widow of his brother John Feb. 1756)

“That bodies should be lent to us is a kind and benevolent act of God. When they become unfit for these purposes and afford us pain instead of pleasure – instead of an aid, become an encumbrance and answer none of the intentions for which they were given – it is equally kind and benevolent that a way is provided by which we may get rid of them.

Death is that way … Why should you and I be grieved at this, since we are soon to follow, and know where to find him.”

thread in the darkness.

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A thread in the darkness, silken, reflective,

Glowing in the stillness and silence of the night that had engulfed his world.

He reached out. It did not quail.

Spider silk strong, it responded to his touch as he wrapped his hand around it.

Tensile strength lifted him, souring from the darkness to a world of light and song.

He looked into eyes pure and true. Love reflected,

The tiny thread that rescued him sprang from those eyes.

He took her hand, delicate, frail, yet strong as the web she had wove round his heart.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he whispered.