Friday, February 11, 2011


How many of her ran out of the kitchen into the field chasing the moon because it was something God made?  To be closer to Him.  When Nora was almost talking, we walked out to see it rocketship full and sitting low in the sky.  Her legs kicking against me, perched on my hip, her hand pointing moonward, spurring me toward it and I walk a few steps forward, almost believing we could.  She kicks harder.  A few steps more, still pointing.  I don't have the heart to tell her that we can't actually walk to it, touch it.  So I keep walking until the sidewalk stops, the gravel begins, the gravel stops, the field in green growth begins, the field ends and the sky.

She only knows what all of us have known, alone, some night when it seems the world was made for us and we know His love individually, uniquely made.   Seeing the moon through the alfalfa framing it where it happens again and again whether we look or not with the eyes of our heart pointed toward the mind that could create something like...the opening closing eye on the night face as her dress falls white and rectangular across the midnight bed.

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