December 20, 2012
Candle lights flicker and soon dim.
Cold air through the window cracks, presses against the heater's labor.
Frigid white takes life.
It comes down softly, enchanting and killing.
And while the trees sleep, I whisper to You that I'd like to swing again.
Not today, not today.
Today the earth is content in death.
A beautiful death, but death nonetheless.
The bud droops under icy weight, and relents it cannot keep its petals.
The bird returns with no worm.
The sky fakes no comfort.
And we wait...
Hi, friend. I'm Amy. Mostly, I’m just another twenty-something trying to figure out the stuff of life. I am a nerdy seminary student who loves the smell of old books and early mornings in the library. I am an artist wanabee, a liberal to the conservative and conservative to the liberal, guilty social justice groupie, and a recovering Bible know-it-all with the unreal ability to put my foot in my mouth an astonishing number of times each day. I am a sister to eight of the most hysterical creatures ever created. Good theology, used book stores, and autumn make me giddy. I preach passionately, think deeply, and ask too many questions. I write prayers, poetry and prose. I write about preaching bad and good, gender roles in the Church, the sacraments, stupid things we do on Sunday, politics, and almost everything else that you are not supposed to discuss in polite company. I also blog at oneyellowbird.blogspot.com. Welcome to the journey.
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