September 21, 2022

Woke in the night to a high tingling in the air, like tiny glass chimes. I thought they might be the wind chimes, but they were too high and far too fast. Maybe autumn welcoming itself into my garden.

Pulled some demon out of my dreams and only now, mid-afternoon, do I fight may way out of the murk. Got my flu shot and finished off the shingles series. Gardened until it was too hot, then sat in the garden and strove with God. Does His secrecy need to be so great? We would fight him less if we understood him more? If he didn’t feel like communicating, he shouldn’t have created us longing for communication.  I feel like a man who labored to draw harvest from his own fields, and then is driven away that others might profit from his achievement. In the dead of night he sneaks back to see if there is any remnant to glean, furtive, lest even that be snatched away. If God has excuses for his cruelty, he does not do well to conceal them. I sat in the garden and emptied my heart, then waited for a reply. A dark hawk cried from the maple branch.

Glorious first of autumn unfolds despite this. We die of grief in fields of gold. Me, I am never happy to see summer go.

Evening: shoulder throbs from the shots, as the ladt at the pharmacy said it would. Last time with Z. Neither of us could think of what to say. I found distant comfort realizing going without his ministrations would save me $3000 a year. Sorry to have thought of that.