Time to reflect, to the smell of wafting wet baked-on animal fat. The first boy who had a crush on me, nicknamed me ‘Angel’s Fly’, then didn’t turn up to school, as he’d returned to juvenile detention. Once a guy I was dating disappeared from his house in the middle of the night, and reappeared in lock-up the next morning. He didn’t even do a half decent job of the petrol station hold-up. He could have returned with diamonds and jewels, or something.
I met a beautiful couple; he carved a wooden box and ring, to offer her in a forest clearing.
My heart sits heavy, despite the sound of crashing waves, the chatty friendly house-mate with tea, the purring cat, the beautiful books, the blessings.
Crisis of faith? Nevermind. In the presence of gratitude, the necessity for hope falls away.