prayful morning

It is indeed a prayful morning.

Cloud cover, beautiful washed air from yesterday's storm. I felt drawn to walk up that special hill where I have found so many things, potsherds and the sure knowledge of my life with them, someday long ago.

I faced northeastern sky and mountains, and gave thanks for drawing breath. The gratitude of bringing past and future together, in the single moment that is always Now.

Walking back down the hill into the riverbed I found a small owl's feather, half buried in the sand. I stood for a long patient time, winnowing out the burrs, smoothing the silken downy threads, immersed in a small task of love making whole.

Love, making whole.

Lovemaking, whole.