In these hot and noisy days, I long for shade and shadows. I am pulled to the river, the endless promise of renewal and transformation. But here, in the American jungle, it is hot and wet and itchy and prickly. So, we work.
I wash feet.
The homeless people here have such battered and unspeakable feet, so abused by the unforgiving pavement and the rocks along the railroad tracks. Their feet get filthy and cut and blistered. So, I wash their feet and nurse them and cut the nails and put on dry, clean socks. We try to collect used shoes.
This will not change the world. But I do know this; it changes a day in a life. And perhaps this is all we have. This and the promise of the river, flowing even this minute, the endless flow of water over stones.
Current Location: work
Current Mood: contemplative
Current Music: Loons crying