| October |
There was a woman who told me she saw things, things like a flower with a deep and hidden beauty, holy and good, but encrusted with a black sooty char of the things we struggle with. And that flower would bloom, she said. It would. It would. And I sat on that picture all through this, my most favorite month; when I cut open too many apples eaten through with worms, or crunched through a scattering of dead leaves, or felt that char ripping away. I saw it like a promise or a hope. And somewhere underneath all the shades of October skies, I believed.