MorningPrayer Friday

Dear God,
   The last leaves have slipped, skidded and sloped towards earth.  The last Requiem of this year's harvest of elegance lies limply on mother earth.  The bones and ligaments of trees etched against the sky, sigh with a different tune in the cool north wind. We bundle our cloak closer about our own bones, pause to acknowledge the rhythm of our earth and flow on, face set and determined to find our own Jerusalem.  Our own Requiem is sometime coming in the harvest of another fall, but until then, may we sing a tune of angels love and greet the dawn with vision,, hope and prayer. AMEN

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