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Greet the Day

I’m in the kitchen and the house is still still, and the sky’s dome’s lightening blue, night’s grey pigments blending with morning’s warm hues, and her voice calls from her…

Bread of Heaven

Tis the season of falling flakes, downy feathers drifting down. Plumes from Father’s wings. They drift down outside my window. Steam from these loaves of holiday bread that I take…