I wake with a headache and a stiff neck. I shiver in the breeze of the open window and pull the sheet up to my chin. I breathe a prayer for those out west who can barely breathe for the heat of the air, for those who can barely breathe for the heat of life, for those with bodies stiff from pain, and for those stiff with grief and fear.
I scratch at mosquito bites on my foot and arm that refuse to dissipate, whose only purpose is to irritate me.
I slip on my blue “Lake Michigan Unsalted” sweatshirt and tiptoe downstairs to pop in my contacts so I can see more clearly. Lyrics of a song by Pink that the grandgirl played loud last night still echo. I take them out of context and make them a prayer . . .
To be continued over at Bibledude.net. The Keurig’s heated, the teapot’s hot, and there’s a plate of still-warm blueberry muffins. Come on over and meet me around the comment table.
Still but not stiff,
Sandy
