Friday we drive through the mountains

Friday we drive through the mountains. They tower above the car, still covered with snow and I am mourning.

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Occasionally waterfalls travel down the grey rock, melding with the ice and dirt. I want to stop and rinse my face in one, feel the water coat my hands, cup them, fill them. Lift it to my face. I want to stand under the water until I am saturated.

Saturday I plant vines. Dirt cakes my nails and I think of water turned to wine and words written in earth and how these hundreds of brown sticks we are planting look dead.

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With my toddlers hand on my thigh and dirt under her nails too, I think about the mystery of shoots unfurling, green leaves filling out and the thousands of pounds of grapes that will be harvested from this barren looking field.

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I think about a lot of mysteries. I think about how beautiful things come from dust.

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This entry was posted in Everyday holy, God's love, Nature. Bookmark the permalink.

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