The snow crunched under my feet
The cold air stung my face
The sky was pink on the horizon... baby pink... hope pink...
And these words of prayer, strange, these soft evils of essen-sual, wrapped my mind in their coat of secret and thick fur while I walked…
May God give me the love of the little things... the love of every thing... the love of the big things... May He give me the love of the little things that make the big things... the love of St. Therese that I understand better each difficult day, each moment step, each misstep to step...
May God give me the love of each book, of each chapter, each paragraph, sentence, line, word, letter that my pen will sketch, draw, color...
May God sharpen my pen until it is gently planted in your heart, in your soul, and may it be filled with the red and black ink of your blood and your skin, with the invisible ink of your spirit.
May each letter draw a little more, a little better, the curves of your thought.
May my spirit caress the side of your soul and make the keys of your cogwheels spring forth in the streams of this improbable and incompatible madness of passion adorned with the jewels of respect, of rightness, of justice, of the quest for precision ....
May the paper counterfeit and mimic the grain of your skin. May the pen extend the pulp of my fingers. May God place on the flesh of my lips the saliva of your words and the undulations of your tongue pronouncing each one in an elusive and stirring haze of voice. May it give to each one the nobility of the full and the loose, the sensuality of the word. May each of your words have for my mouth the crunch of nuts, the juicy and acidulous pulp of citrus fruits, the flavor of the noblest spices.
May each page be the site of a royal and intoxicating feast, and the temple of purifying ablutions.
May my mind's journey to yours be the quiet, rippling current of a river. The sentences, long refreshing and thirst-quenching sips, glistening in the sunlight, of your crystalline and prodigious mind games.
May the pen suavely pierce the windows of your eyes and adorn itself with the almost burning shimmering tones of your retina, reaching the cosmic infinity of your cells, of your water, of your bones. May it decipher your universe, reach your constellation, brush against the stellar movements of your stars, the dance steps of your dna, the womb of your creations, you, too humble creature and creator.
May I remain worthy of to carry this sweet but oh so precious and cherished responsibility.
May I still hope to be watered at the source of your spirit, and nourished and enlivened by the spirit of God.
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