Such a day that I wish I had my camera. Such a weekend that I wish I had paper and pen. Such a day that creativity hits with force enough to shatter a man’s soul. The light. Praise God for the light. Light is beauty, light is. The sun reflecting of 40 stories of glass, the contrast in the light and shadows of an object. The silver of the moon, turning the golden grass to platinum farscape, the green trees to round creatures marching. Nothing hurts more than staring at the moon and listening to Sara Groves, watching hills and mountains pass by; hills and mountains that are so familar that even in a dream you know that home is just around the corner. And an outlet is lacked.
What a way to end a trip.
Such a weekend of memories. Old and new. Old friends that remembered me, old places that I remembered. And Cioppino. Sooo good. Doing squats during worship, and throwing an egg and having it break in Laura’s hands. Street corners and playgrounds that have shaped me, and children and adults that I have shaped.