Unscripted. Unedited. Real.
Writing for five minutes.
A sort of writing flash mob.
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Each day, we are moving closer to the long darkness, the season of night everlasting.
When days melt quickly into inky blackness and linger long on the edge of dawn. The days, they grow colder. The trees, they stand rigid and bare and stoic.
How curious that in the deepest parts of this season, when there is more darkness than light, we would be offered the gift of wonder.
For who among us can abide in this darkness? To dwell here is to live among the walking dead.
So, the Wise One, He drew back the veil of stars and entered in. In a place at once dark and dingy, the bearer of light broke through the shadows.
It is on such an Eve that wonder lives and breathes and has its meaning. For there is no precedent, nor moment following, that can outshine the resplendence of Love made incarnate.
Even the moon seemed to feel the depth of darkness as it hung low and heavy in the twilight this week, full to bursting and burning with a fiery richness. Almost as if it was wondering as it wandered across the frosted sky.
