walks 74-78: recovery

maple tree at duskThe palette of the Pennsylvania impressionist painters in the mid 20th century captured the light and shadow, the sage and charcoal and pink  that I experience as I walk to the labyrinth. It is  my first walk on a fall late afternoon this year.  After days of neglecting the labyrinth, and a day of coffee drinking, I find my heart palpitating as I walk, and a jittery exhilaration. I determine to make it up to myself by walking the labyrinth five times. I sit at the center on the first walk, the sky glows and as I walk out, the curves of the labyrinth seem to me the curves of the female form. By the fifth walk, my giddiness has transformed into ecstasy, and the exquisite perfection of every limb of the maple tree is revealed to me, the space between the delicate curving tendrils. I have gotten my Sight back after a week of fog. All I behold becomes brutally beautiful, and there is no doubt of God’s hand

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