Dying and rising
The morning was hot, the thick wet suffusing heat of a late southern summer, and I was walking.
It's three and half miles from the place we get our car serviced to our home, and even though the day's temperature was heading into the triple digits, I'm still happy to walk it. Because when you walk, you see things. You're aware of creation.
The sun beats down, the sidewalk fiercely radiant under my sandaled feet. I see the shade cast by the tall trees at the waning of the morning. I cross the street, and walk under the generous cooling shadow of their canopy.
