I know the puddle on the floor.
Right now, I am able to notice how elevated I feel in the chair just above it.
Somehow the fire has graced me with just enough will to sit upright, drawn to its warmth.
Is that dawn, just on the horizon?
Just like that, grace sweeps us onward. Swift and complete.
Still, the body takes its time to understand - heavy, droopy in the eyes.
An exhaustion so deep one could go into eternal sleep.
So fast, the world wants to absorb the moments and the feast of grief - gluttonous and proud to be happy.
My heart knows something different right now, and she's kind enough to show me again how to pray.
The light from the fire glows warm and holds me still in my body's weaping.
A stillness so sacred you couldn't plan for it, pay for it, or command it.
This is Grace.
She takes her time. And she likewise tells us the next movement, only when it's time.
And once the time has come, there is no force alive to hold back the Great Wind.
But before I go, I will visit the ground and make friends with the ancient dirt who knows of such things.
The visit - it might take a while.