We no longer walk before dawn, K. and I, having decided that one morning need (walking) ought not compromise another (sleeping), but sometimes I miss the soft shroud of darkness that made the time all the more intimate.
This week, K. speaks of the power of believing oneself to be a “beloved child [of god]” even when faith is shaken, even in the face of tremendous loss. I believe, if not in god, certainly in the beloved. My uncle is gravely ill, dying; a favorite cousin, a family friend and an old colleague have all recently passed. Barack Obama departs the White House today.
I feel the soft shroud of mourning, heavy on my shoulders, as I step into the dim day, remembering my beloved.