between the rivers

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    154

    We started out long ago and
    high above the river and ended
    up here, again, last night watching
    the rain fall in the darkness, looking
    down across the river valley. Here,
    in a land defined by drought, it has
    rained since we arrived – not
    sprinkles, but sheets: the kind of
    deluge that sticks your shirt to skin
    running from the car to the house.

    I expected to wake up this morning
    and see a stream running between
    the banks below, life flowing again
    in the dry bed. I was not disappointed.
    The questions, I think, have fed
    our lives between the two rivers;
    we were never much for answers,
    when it comes to what matters most.

    Why am I moved by stories of Eden,
    you wondered once: Adam and Eve,
    in their garden between their rivers.
    What does their sadness mean?
    Life flows to sadness like our rivers
    to the sea. It’s all headed downhill,
    and – not but, AND – life fills with
    joy and grace the way the showers
    feed the streams and soak the land.

    By the time we said good night to
    the river and each other, the house
    was strewn with empty wine glasses
    and coffee cups. I carried a full heart
    back to my room. Now that I’ve had
    my morning coffee, I think it might
    be time to run out under the rain
    and soak in the grace and gratitude.

    Peace,
    Milton

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    3 COMMENTS

    1. “Life flows to sadness like our rivers
      to the sea. It’s all headed downhill,
      and – not but, AND – life fills with
      joy and grace the way the showers
      feed the streams and soak the land.”

      Today, Sunday, marks the 5th anniversary of Brooks’ death….AND, I met Ginger and started going to NCC. In order to get through the sadness you need to see the blessing. Thank God for the blessings.

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