two children couldn’t stand it. mom’s door slightly closed. it was too much. “mom! you have to see the dining room table.” sunlight is coming through my windows and from their faces. and he’s in the kitchen. he’s making hash browns. dad’s famous hash browns. “they woke you up?” he pours the coffee in my
the ferris wheel never stopped. they opened the doors like greeters on a sunday morning and ushered you right to your seat. it was unnerving. i hesitated like at the mall before an escalator. it inched. barely perceptible. it kept moving. the wheels of the machine don’t stop. i got in. of course i did.
why does grace threaten me like it does? i walk up snow covered hills with children and more snow falls down all around us. they are insatiable. whatever is good, whatever is lovely – these children will take these things. i feel like i’ve had my hands closed tight for a while now. if grace
her voice sings out. the notes are a jangle and the rhythm would cause one to wonder ‘what is that noise downstairs?’ without god we struggle. we don’t like the unstable, transitory nature of the world we find ourselves in. we want to hold onto what we can see. people. moments. places. feelings. clothing. things
they are belly flopping down before i can turn around. abe and dad are laughing and telling me it’s my turn. and maybe it is. my turn to fly down with abandon and laugh all the way as the sled moves fast with a mind of its own. but i don’t know, it’s awfully cold