Grass On Its Knees

After the housewarming party that warmed my heart as much as it did the space we occupied, a field took my truck out into it's arms and blanketed light on the cool fog of three AM.

You are my sweetest downfall

I drove there with Madame of India on my tongue and Yellow Tail on my breath - wet grass and dim lights found me sitting on the warm hood while a piano and a lone voice soundtracked the night - steeped with the warm air after a rain like a widow brewing tea. Remembering loves and loves and loves.

I rolled my pantlegs up while walking towards the light, half-expecting to see Jesus step out of the fractured orange angling towards the subtley shifting ground. Soft and wet with rain and mud, grass on its knees thanking God for quiet nights in the company of water and music and moonlight and housewarmings.

Not a car passed - it seems the temperature never changed - my soul warm enough to heat whatever heart would be held - but all I found was my own and my pounding chest wishing I could simply be physically held by God in this moment, but knowing that all around me were His arms holding me near - to the music, the moonlight, the water and wine.

Deep green grass bent to its knees thanking God - thanking God with reverence - thanking God for the breath of the world - cool breezes and children playing - an orange light giving shape to the fog that once seemed so vague, but now gives form to my shadow as I wait for Jesus,

knowing He is within, without, all around, and lifting the grass up from it's lowered posture to look into His eyes and know that they are loved.