Friday, February 28, 2020

A walk from my doorway down into the village.

A walk from one end of the field in which I labor to another.

A walk to family in the next town.

A walk from my chamber to the quiet table at which I sit and organize my affairs.

How long these travels, dear Lord. Yet all take up just one of your glorious days.

Do your gifts reside in places discovered along each journey, or are they to be found in the duration of the day itself?

Let me be thankful for the space between when I awaken and when I retire.

(Letter #1,875)