Tuesday, September 10, 2019

I scan the horizon, fear in my throat. What will visit me? How long until it is upon me? Unmoored worry, a cloud drifting through my thoughts.

Yet of what am I afraid? I cannot name my fears. They are spirits, false.

Lord, blow through my inner life a stiff wind. Sweep away these hovering clouds. Let me blink, clear eyed, at the view across the valley. No hosts gather, no calamities lurk. Bright skies.

Whisper to me, Lord, that I may unclench my jaw.

(Letter #1,704)