Saturday, August 17, 2019

Before dawn, the moon glows at me as I rise and make my rounds. Quiet step by quiet step, the shining light is so gentle. My way is lit, yet I feel no warmth.

At noon my skin tingles with warmth and and my eyes squint. Where is my moon now? I am exposed like a bug on a plate.

I seek the light in the darkness; I search for shade when in the light. Let me accept this day on its own terms, dear Lord.

(Letter #1,680)