The wind is sharp, but even here, next to the ice cold Atlantic sea, the air is warming. Spiders dart through the rocks and we only have to look down at any one spot for a few seconds before seeing another. I check my ankles. Fog hangs over the water, the sand an unrolled length of velvet in the muted light. Lauren pockets a small collection of stones. We leave with a film of salt on our lips, lungs washed. At home the stones are reexamined and shifted into patterns, hands moving like the tide to push them into place.
From morning to late afternoon light fills the house, slanting across walls, threading through every crack, an unexpected wintertime luxury. In the months of April through October leafy trees dilute the sunlight but we’re occupied with shorelines and gardens then, barely noticing the indoor elements. Now we’re needier and follow the light as it moves, easily astonished by the warmth and glow of ordinary corners. There’s no rush to leave.
February’s for telling what we're made of
Is it words?
Is it bones?
Is it clay?
Is it love?
Are we water?
February’s for telling what it's made of
Is it bones?
A photo journal from Dec 26 - Dec 30.
And we must extinguish the candle, put out the light and
Forever must quench, forever relight the flame.
Therefore we thank Thee for our little light, that is dappled
- T.S. Eliot
'Sacrament' from the Latin for 'sacred' and the Greek for 'mystery'.
In the faith of my childhood sacraments were looked upon suspiciously as objects or rituals interrupting the light of truth, creating a shadow. Perhaps this is accurate and the ways in which we communicate a sacred story impede our own view of it, but maybe the shadows are part of a larger story - a symbol of our human condition, and our imperfect understanding of the story we're telling. The mystery is that love moves within the shadowed places of our own making, sometimes illuminating them, sometimes leaving us in the dark but always, “God with us”.
Four candles for our family of 4. When one of us needs extra grace we'll light their candle, the flame a symbol of the hope we’ve found in Jesus, the shadow reminding us of our imperfect understanding of this sacred mystery and God, still with us.