The Color of Holy
Maybe if I lived there and walked’
past it each day and heard its timely
bells it would fall into the realm of the
familiar, a thing taken then for granted.
Maybe. But I’d like to believe otherwise.
Standing in the rafters of the Cathedral
of Siena at dusk, I simultaneously felt
a vertigo in my chest and swore I heard
the bones of ghostly saints rattling,
Take off your boots, you fool.
Take off your boots, you fool.
I steadied myself on a stair rail as the
evening sun found purchase in the
corner of a pane stained with what
I sensed to be the color of holy.
The reckoning caused time, and me,
to stand still a moment longer.
Great words my friend. Cheers!
Thanks, General. I hope all is well with you.
“The evening sun found purchase” – more of your poetic, picture-forming, feeling-captured words.
Thank you, Carol.
I mean?! Where have you been??? And it is SO very good to HEAR from you!!! The grace you are speaking lately borders on the ridiculous. But, I suppose grace is. Thank you.
Thank you, Abby. That means a lot to me.