There is a beauty in the quiet lenten moments.
The white arcetecture of winter beings to run clear- a moveable, pliable prizim of color- trickling, dripping off the edge of the roof, and I am reminded of a earlier age.
Lent is here, it's February and "Aslan is on the move."
An ashen smudge above my brow, reminding me of my heritage with the ground. I came from that ground, now covered with snow. "Remember, O man, dust thou art..."
I'll return just as soon.
Lent, a liturgy to keep time with.
A space created for new things to grow.
A Song of Ascents. Of David.
O Lord, my heart is not lifted up;
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child is my soul within me.
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child is my soul within me.
O Israel, hope in the Lord
from this time forth and forevermore.
Psalm 131from this time forth and forevermore.
Hope in God, well wintered soul.
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