Once again, I entered that warm space of wonder last night,
Where friends connect in deep appreciation of each other,
Where we get to celebrate the way our connections interweave time and space
And, more deeply, where we weave a nest of grace.
Marvelous food helps. Wine helps.
But the real intoxication is deep regard for each other
And the hope, the assurance, the energy that rises in that context
It is friendship in a state of flow.
I wake this morning in gratitude for the feast of friendship shared.
[photo by Steve Corey per cc 2.0]
[Thanks, especially, to Jean, Jane and Diana]
My fingers are cold; my whole being is cold. The warmth of my own blood has retreated deep within me and I so I sit, cuddled up beneath the oak tree at the top of the meadow. My blood runs slowly through my veins, sluggish. It doesn’t want to venture out to bring life to my limbs. I huddle down, and try to draw warmth from myself, but there is none to draw. I feel tired. Sleep beacons me, calling to me to retreat from my day before it has even begun. 
Physics is right.
Quiet Hope 