“Even the sun, on earth beneath, turns in space like a gold wreath.” – Paul Engle, from his poem “The Wreath” in A Christmas Feast: Poems, Sayings, Greetings and Wishes. Compiled by Edna Barth
On our walk this morning down River Road and more out of the wind than the nearby beach, the low, low sun hit us right in the eye. It was ten o’clock. We three stood without blinking, relishing the brightness in the cold– soaking the light into our brains, our bodies, our souls. It was like a cold, cold glass of lemonade on a hot summer day. We all agreed we needed it. The sun sets behind the mountains now by one o’clock. Then the world is gray, blue and pink.
After our walk, since I was bundled up, and the sun was still out for a little while longer, I stacked firewood on the porch until my feet were too cold, grateful for the full shed and the warm house.
This is angel weather—— and I believe in guardian angels. I think one of mine is a dog.
While making jam thumb prints for tomorrow’s holiday bake sale at the library, I read this thought from Joy Harjo, in her book of poems, Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings and I thought it was perfect- just perfect. Angels, like dogs and like people, need something to do–
