Friday, August 27, 2021

They drink from the well on my land, they pick the apples from my orchard. They do not ask before they take. I am depleted, my stores grow bare.

Who am I to say this tree is mine, this water mine?

Lord, let me not fancy myself generous when I give what is yours to my fellow children.

Yea, you made the day, even my time is not my own.

You exist in the exchange between one and another, you are circulating love.

Let me onpass what has been given.

(Letter #2,422)