I walk in the early morning, the air, cool, refreshing following the 100 degree heat.  Birds sing quietly.  White clouds float lazily in the blue sky.  I meet no one.  All is still.  A gentle breeze blows, caresses me, enters my soul.

            Back home, I check the morning news while drinking my morning tea…

Aurora, Colorado              14 dead in massacre at a theater               Dark Knight           

I turn off the TV,  pray for the inured, the dead, the shooter…for all those who love and those who hate that they may find love to soften their hearts.  I pick up Thirst by Mary Oliver and read:

Praying

It doesn’t have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

small stones; just

pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try

to make them elaborate, this isn’t

a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice may speak.

Another voice reminds me of beauty.  In the midst of chaos, of suffering, God helps me pay attention not only to the dark shadows, but also the beauty of dawn.