The flower looks out, searching the setting sun; as I look on in wonder.

 

 

I am surrounded by clues to the real source of love.

 

Striations show the layers we develop over time, exposing both strength and character; and our weaknesses.

 

We are all heading somewhere. Time to notice … perhaps.

 

 

Perhaps the best bridges allow passage by two means.

 

 

Some leaves turn early, readying themselves for a long winter,

While other bask in a late summer.

 

 

 

The craftsman works with his tools,

Demonstrating a love of the work which cannot be faked,

He sees the work being savored by others,

Perhaps for years to come,

Clear about how the work matters to all.

Now and in their future journeys.

 

As the work is only honorable if grace filled.

Does good,

And overflows with good intention.

 

 

Peering upward it all seems dark,

But not blackness.

The invitations are still there,

To explore the edges,

See the sidelights,

The evolving painting,

And from whence it comes.

 

From a hidden light.

 

 

Woven, strong, together and willing to protect each other and those in need.