What is it.
The unfolding of a picnic coverlet. From corner to corner upon breezy grasses, a seal, a shield, a protectorate of picnic goers or a protector of a small green oasis? An island. It is safety and care –mindfulness, concern, and gracefulness. A place where sky and earth do not meet. Where the environmental delicacies are enjoyed just as much as those found in a plastic bag, unfolded to the taste’s delight. Unfolded like a picnic blanket. Unfolded to reveal just the right amount of love.

What is it.
A meal. Cooked from all sides, intentionally placed into various receptacles, which were created for diverse purposes. A basket for bread. A small dish for oil and vinegar. A plate for pasta. The cook’s salvation, their livelihood, their salary, their enjoyment. A crumb –the Almighty’s mercy. One crumb in one belly, two crumbs in two bellies. Bellies feasting on an all-encompassing compassion, through which love is known to the cook and the crumb, and the crumb and the belly, and the two sharing the crumbs.

What is it.
A car accident. A mistake or a blessing? Off the road, perfectly betwixt two seriously tall trees –a six foot drop to a rocky ditch. Where are the scratches? Where are the deep punctures? Where are the bruises? Tomorrow they could have been there. But today they weren’t. Saved? Rescued? Protected. Sheltered. Loved. The trees knew it. An awakening.

What is it.
Speaking? Words? We are born with something in our brains that allows us to learn language as children. We are born with the capacity to learn words, to grasp their meanings. We speak now but the words have already been spoken, we speak to one another, but for those that understand –silence is another part of language where the heart has its own alphabet. One word is all that is needed, whether spoken or practiced, felt or touched.

What is it. The curve of the waves, the lines on the boats, the sand, a doughnut, a smile, a photograph. They are what is revealed to us each day, to a perfect degree, to their capacity, to their purpose. Can you guess what is in them?



I’m happy you’re back. What is it? A year? Time from or time to? It is our perfect portion. It is like the picnic blanket and the crumb, the accident, and words. It is the rejoicing of being, and being loved.