The field has turned to dry stalks; delicate crystal. Where once a creek trickled, now I walk along a newly cleared path of stones and meander.
This is the time to get through.
The stores will once again be full; the rains will pour down; the river will rush, bed hidden under froth.
Today, can I love the dry grass?
Let me love today, Lord.
(Letter #3,798)
Daily Letters to God 