Perhaps I am the bike, abandoned by the side of the house.
I look for the door, the way out of stasis, the portal to a new place.
I listen for the wind moving across the water, the wind that can show me a new direction.
I hold fast to the promise that all can be redeemed, an old house transformed into a pottery studio.
|The same house, Feb. 2014|
I pray to our God of clay and fire.
Let me similarly be transformed.
Let me see the vision that's in the distance, the transformations that have already begun.