It wasn’t any angel who hovered, wings high, upright body, head bowed, not in prayer, so much as attention. But really, any blessing in a desert feels holy. A small spark of energy on a still hot morning where all I can find are fragments and pieces, no threads to weave them together. Sometimes just enough has healed to make the climb. Sometimes the path through the burning sand gives way to water and a grove of palms. Sometimes when it seems you can’t take one more step you realize that it’s breathing and friendship that will always save you— and you remember to have faith that the deep sacred well that feeds the beating wings of angels, (okay, hummingbirds) and creeping lizards and circling hawks is also waiting for you, just out of sight. © 2024 Gretchen Schmelzer, PhD            

View Entire Post