Daily the
cracks in the sky open to help us feel
how the love of God can burst into flames and warm
our quiet and cold early morning pensées. The night
before
we had felt the zero that loneliness brings, sitting by a
fire
that no one else sees. We stayed outside till midnight,
just two of us exchanging stories we had told each other
a hundred times before.
Waking the
next morning in our separate houses,
I don’t know if we dreamed the scenes we had painted
the night before. I wondered if the embers had turned to
ashes
overnight.
I pondered
how many beliefs we left behind to find
their remains in the firepit we had constructed? Did
our stories match? Did our songs matter? Did our
recitations of memorized liturgies make a difference
today?
It was
love that invited us, and it was love that
bid us to stay.
We wish we
had kept our sense of humor
intact.
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