Gossamer

The gossamer days have begun--late summer, early fall--when our porch is laced with delicate threads of spider magic. Morning is the time to see them, and my heart sings as they shimmer with each little breeze. Glory (GLORY!) is all I can say...this is a "groaning," a weight of glory, too deep for words. I feel like the girl I once was, finding in nature the beginning of Sehnsucht and desperate to capture--no, to honor--this beauty by trying to describe it.

How can words begin to capture the wonder of this architecture, these impossible tight-wires and delicate, spiraling discs? Not just these but the glory of it all--cloudless sky and clapping trees, cool clean air and warming sun, chirps and caws and rustlings--this blooming buzzing outpouring of color, sound, and light!

And above, beneath, around it all the Pneuma that moves wherever it pleases. I hear its sound and feel its power but don't know where it's coming from or where it's going. I only know that in this Breath I live and move and have my being. Know, too, that I also am a gossamer wonder, here for a season and shining in the Light.