fire in the night
Returning from Dublin in the dark. Driving up to the old chateau. Parked the car. Waited a moment.
Then it came.
Falling down the sky.
A shooting star. Wide fire trail. Green light becoming white light. Momentous momentary glory. Phosphoring into nothingness.
If only I could hold onto that image.
But the gift is to see it not to hold onto it.
I thought of the hand that flung the stars.
"What does it mean Lord?"
My question hung in the stillness.
Then it came.
Falling down the sky.
A shooting star. Wide fire trail. Green light becoming white light. Momentous momentary glory. Phosphoring into nothingness.
If only I could hold onto that image.
But the gift is to see it not to hold onto it.
I thought of the hand that flung the stars.
"What does it mean Lord?"
My question hung in the stillness.
posted by heelers | 1:57 AM
1 Comments:
T'ain't fair, you get all the good celestial stuff. I'd stamp my foot sulkily if only I could get myself off the sofa.
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