Flowers on Sunday Before Christmas

Yesterday there was a little sliver of dawn at the horizon.  But I am always cautious when that edge begins to appear.  Aware the inky turbulence of heavy rain still looms ahead – a long way to go before you see any more of the road than the amber pinspot of headlights.

Why it feels so good to me to fuss with these flowers, I honestly don’t know.  I worried this week that the lingering bruises of disappointment and my bone-dry fuel tank might have left me stranded somewhere even petals couldn’t find me.

Miraculously, though, the magic held.  It still rained like hell for a while – but somehow I stayed on the road.  I can’t say it any clearer than these pictures – what I can’t stop hoping for, even though I feel hopeless.  It comes back again and again: the urge to open and yield to the unforeseeable, no matter what has gone before.  That was my miracle today.

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