A little letter to my aunt, from the love room, four years ago –
Cold today, at sixteen degrees and windy. Overhead, a few brown leaves tick against each other like withered, but still hopeful, clapping hands, remembering what there was to love, to celebrate.
Are you still loving the world; loving this place where you touched down for what seems now like such a short time? Are you showering us all with spangled smiles and sighs of fondness? Do you see how much we worry about the silliest things — power, position, getting ahead — while we are blind to what is right in front of us — wonders, and beloveds at risk: children, the earth, all things innocent?
Are you part of the Great Tender Heart that poured us all out and still longs for her children to know joy? To see the graces? To drink them up? To give birth to peace?
I imagine that is so — that you still long for the best for all of us. In that, you are not alone.