Crappy First Drafts

Memories spring before me like a surprise visitor in my window -     t he bird on my sill,           the squirrel up my tree,                the butterfly flitting by. Their moments compiled, one on top of the other -     unforeseeable,          unnoticed,                unexpected. Sarah saw, Hagar looked away, Bartimaeus pled.      Oh give me sight! Eyes that see your truth without protective fear, Eyes that witness miracles in place of death, Eyes clouded by mercy, for the clearest of vision, making me faithful and true. Someday said the bird on my sill.     One day said the squirrel up my tree.          Today said the butterfly flitting by. These memories spring before me like the surprise visitors at my window.

In a world, not so far away, sunlight yawned over the drenched hilltop. Its light, magnified by the wetness of grass and wild brush. The trees gently swaying, a morning stretch to mark the start of the day. Though just a block from home, this hill is somehow otherworldly. It harkens my mind to fairytales and dreams. While my body continues to briskly pass by, my soul lingers, captured by the light, thrown from the floor of the hillside. Everything sparkles, illuminated by dawn. In some other time I would lay out a blanket. I would lie myself on the hill and become another being capturing and casting the light from its surface. I would absorb the warmth of the rays, feel the gentle brush of breeze. But instead of awakening as the hill does, I would sleep. I would close my eyes and float away. Away to you, to rest, to life and abundance. Though the air carries no word, I would hear you speaking. Words without sound, life without expense. Simply being. No exerting. Your presence sufficien