Limbo Lower Now

It's a strawberry microbial morning and we all create some sort of burka for ourselves. The morning paper comes amidst the crunch of snow and ice. Is buttery a way to describe wine? Lord God above, aliens, spaceship, Pope, sun, giver of life, all of nature, all who love me: hear my Sunday morning plea. Is this life after death journey a true existence? Does the soul separate from the physical body and move through space? Is purgatory being alone in the void through the lack of immediate adoration from all the saints and angels? Are they simply time travelers? Let’s not forget about limbo, limbo lower now. Here is where the souls of short lived lives or the unbaptized souls are sent to.

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Noah's Ark and a whale passed quickly by the window on a strong breeze. Neighborhoods so filled with summer's noises that drift out of one window to another. The loud cry of a baby, alive, adrift for all to hear, broadcasting a life at its beginning. The birds as they wake, and the dogs who smell a cat, a raccoon, skunk woodchuck, then restrained by the owners and turn to a muffled distant noise, back to the quiet. A friendly tree that as it grows showed me so many morning faces through the years. Today pictures a dog.

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Rossman Chapel

Up in the small room, a creature of the night was trapped. Flying back and forth, sort of knocking on my door to get out and be free once more. A prisoner of circumstances. Tonight brings only a short stay, with an ejection played by my tennis racket.

His life is unscathed by my volley but he is left wondering how to find such propulsion in his future endeavor in hunting insects. Oh, how similar to the trappings humankind find themselves building around their lives.