Scribd Logo
Upload

Welcome to Scribd!

  • One More Day

    Uploaded by

    api-233105877
    7 views2 pages
    The old dog sits quietly watching as dawn arrives, while the puppy still sleeps. As the sand in the dunes shifts slightly disturbing a lizard, the narrator reflects that each day is a gift from the spirit. The narrator wonders if this one more day granted will be the last, or if tomorrow will bring another, offering a whispered prayer of thanks.

    Original Description:

    Original Title

    Untitled

    Copyright

    © Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)

    Available Formats

    PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd

    Did you find this document useful?

    Is this content inappropriate?

    Report this Document
    The old dog sits quietly watching as dawn arrives, while the puppy still sleeps. As the sand in the dunes shifts slightly disturbing a lizard, the narrator reflects that each day is a gift from the spirit. The narrator wonders if this one more day granted will be the last, or if tomorrow will bring another, offering a whispered prayer of thanks.

    Copyright:

    Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    7 views2 pages

    One More Day

    Uploaded by

    api-233105877
    The old dog sits quietly watching as dawn arrives, while the puppy still sleeps. As the sand in the dunes shifts slightly disturbing a lizard, the narrator reflects that each day is a gift from the spirit. The narrator wonders if this one more day granted will be the last, or if tomorrow will bring another, offering a whispered prayer of thanks.

    Copyright:

    Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    of 2

    One More Day

    Spirit has granted me one more day. Dawn. Early morning light, yet, not yet. The puppy lies sleeping while the old dog sits quietly. Sniffing. Waiting. Watching. Willing the night to dissolve in sunrise, Now. The sand in the dunes shifts slightly, a whisper of rippling silk and startled, the unprotected lizard dances soft away. One more day. Each day a gift. The sword still hangs, suspended. Who can riddle the truth that holds it in its place? They are not old gods inhabiting the interstices of my mind. Nor new. It is the sword. Ever the sword. No shivering aspens here on the folds of lava stone where sand dunes meet and lose out to high country. Will I too want for breasts so I can die weighing exactly twenty-eight grams less? One more day. One more book, a rhyme, a song for a maid who has gladdened the heart, the eternal mystery of woman that has bested god and man. Can God truly be barren of this unspoken truth? Eternity has no limits that the mind can plumb. Nor words. How to grasp the thought of endless now, unchanging horror or eternal love, weighing consequence of living life? How to judge after the fact? Struck dumb by the wisdom of the Spirit that has willed this day to dawn, to be, yet, is it the last? Will tomorrow see another? A whispered prayer. Sole dei gratia. The slow rising. Gracias. Otro da ms.

    el chuco, tejas, al amanecer, 10/25/11

    http://magazine.nd.edu/news/18882-into-the-deep/

    You might also like