Solitude

Getting ready for the Friday Morning Eucharist. We took our time; I took mine. Half way through I went outside and took this picture. I loved the blue sky, so beautiful, so transient. Wish you were there.

The best moment on Friday came before people arrived. Gradually, this solitude was replaced by sounds from human activities. In the midst of various crowds, I had a hard time preventing this solitude from becoming loneliness. It was when in crowds that I felt the most alone. People talked but I could only see their mouths moving. The shape of their mouths, the movements of their hands, then I looked down, trying to seek refuge in the moring dews on the grass, the tiny toadstools that had sprouted up after a night of heavy humidity. The wind was less than gentle, slapping our faces and making our hair dance. In such cold weather, I missed the warmth of that big hand that I had held, the broad shoulder that I embraced with so much longing that it hurt. Then I heard the birds' singing. It sounded crisp and you could almost feel the echo. All these would disppear as the sun gave us more of its light and heat. It was in coldness that I felt warmth, something lingering and almost imperceptable.