Its windy on Dead Horse Cove today, snow flurries against the maple and poplar. Bringing wood in, bringing wood in. Softwood ignites a spark; hard wood burns through the night. Can you do this?
The world needs more than late night words of God. It needs bloody hands worn rough from mistake and trying again. Humbled I’ve been. My people are becoming the winter people, the salt, the ones that show their hearts from their dirty palms. Hearts of sparkle. A raccoons treasure.
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