what I often do in mornings. Sing my prayers. I felt so. Loved. I feel my angels. This garden holds the love of so many who have been here. The love of God. My children who love it. The work you and dad do to beautify it. The memories of grandma in Indiana and her garden. Varena. The angels all over in the garden. The hummingbirds that come so close to me. The flowers I’m sure hear me.
How I clear the fog and fear. Immediate love. I have tears. All of it goes as I hum. And I watch and look at each beautiful thing. The memories of people here. Birds that come right to me. It’s alive. It’s God’s grace. And I can’t hold it just for myself.