He sees God’s hand, the way grasses lean north. She knows: autumn wind. Posted in response to the Ragtag Community Daily Prompt enchanted and the One Daily Prompt prediliection
Tag: religion
In the Begin. . . .
A sound sounds and, sounding, rises, rises sounding loud, loud as the beginning, a beginning that is but noise a noise named God. And God is the sound, a sound full of its rising, that sounds a sound that wants an articulate for the inarticulate rumble of a sounding, a sounding empty of sound but … Continue reading In the Begin. . . .
Brother Brigham’s Confusion
Against his grasshopper plague The Saint prayed for seagull angels This morning, only blackbirds.
A Sermon on a Sermon
Brother Thoms’ Father’s Day Sunday sermon, which was supposed to be on the subject, “Supporting Father and Husband in their Priesthood Responsibilities,” wandered onto his hobby horse—women and the apocalypse. It was pretty vibrant and apocalyptic, and as usual, he rode it hard. A great amount of detail was put into length of skirts, wearing … Continue reading A Sermon on a Sermon
The Shaman in the Cave
Here in the silence, the smoldering dark, breathing the smoke of smothering, the odor of smoke and grave earth mingling, he moves his ocher wand. The bull is earth and mind. His terror at what he makes is less than the joy, much less than who have just left mother above to find this bull … Continue reading The Shaman in the Cave
Two Minds, Same House
She prays: “the rainbow— It's the full promise of god!” He sniffs the wet earth. In response to the Ragtag Daily Prompt word: petrichor. And the Word of the Day Challenge kin .
Feeding the Grubs at the Feed-the-Hungry Feast
This is a repost of yesterday's post. Writelee could not resist adding the word "grubby," which qualifies for the Ragtag word of the day. "Grubby" should have been put into the original. There are a few other edits. Writelee has a discomfort about this sketch and the whole series that began with "I Only go … Continue reading Feeding the Grubs at the Feed-the-Hungry Feast
Sabbath Day
Willow grove bows and nods articulating wind’s whim on which hawk rides, hunts Posted in response to both of the Ragtag Community Word of the Day: adulation, as well as, well, articulate. Thanks, guys and gals.
Bird Woman Speaks
“I don’t suppose anyone here has ever heard of the Olicanucian Flyinitus,” said the person we knew as Robin. Her obsidian eyes glimmered and flickered with light from fireplace and the few dim bulbs hanging from a timber beams. Outside the wind moaned through the hemlock and tamarack. Wind whipped snow pelted and shook the … Continue reading Bird Woman Speaks
The Emptiest Empty is Silence
The silence was deafening. Except for the whir of the wind in the grasses and the clicking of grasshoppers in their yellow flight, except for the hiss and pop of the small fire on the rock, Eric couldn’t hear a sound. The sagebrush and sweet grass fire flickered in the wind, blue and yellow, on … Continue reading The Emptiest Empty is Silence
