The wheat brushed along her legs as she ran from the house screaming.
The silver screen door rhythmically bounced open and close as she took off into the hot days sun.
Repeating something about “stacking stones” as she slowed her pace, out of breath.
Her callused feet, bled – red stains in the footprints that trailed her.
Wild roses growing among weeds, she paused – glancing higher than herself.
Roots twisted around her foot to a fall, she fell.
Defeated, she laid on the earth’s bed – dirty knees – grazing it’s surface.
“be small” – “live quietly”
The sun darkened her vision, it was night, twilight.
“The stars are small and look how brightly they shine”
It isn’t harmonic convergence. No such thing.
How often does the author himself meet you in his scribbling’s? His declaration and expression of life.
I’m convinced that each time I seek, I will find. Even in the silent nights. Especially.
By running from LOUDNESS and the tally keeping of this life, i’m able to find myself in the sacred, hidden places where only true completeness and companionship exists.
Let these legs be blemished and these feet be hardened. Watch me as I run for the stars.
Make me a star – your daughters twilight – scattered among the darkness.
1 Thessalonians 4:11