Someone's Hand

I kind of like orbiting. It makes me feel wide open and unending.

Much in the same way that the wheat on a late summer day sways its way beneath a harvest moon. Let the wind push me into the blades of the tall grass and then pull me back, high and proud. I suppose that isn't so much of an orbit as it is a swagger.

I kind of like swaggering too, though.

Orbit & Swagger. I may have just invented the best folk group you've never heard of. Or possibly a Sunday morning "Hour of Power".

Sometimes the colors are too vivid, too bright, to bold. Sometimes the colors are too alive. Sometimes I step back and envy them for that very thing. Still, I'm trying my best to glow.

The other evening I plucked a small stone from a stream and held it in my hand. Watching the water dry upon its smooth surface, suddenly everything found clarity. Ironically enough, that sudden clarity found Me. Maybe we're all rough and jaded for a season, but with the winds of time or the waters of days, maybe just maybe we'll end up smooth and comfortable.

Even comfortable enough to hold.

In someone's hand.

As it were.