The sisters were having a squabble. From the other room, it sounded like a FIGHT to the finish. With an effort, I heave myself out of the chair and check in. “What’s going on?” A chorus of disgruntled girls answers me. I hear “PEARL,” “CANDY,” and of course the inevitable finger pointing of siblings. A few questions later, and it appears that broken bits of a necklace had ended up in a bowl where someone had dumped an assortment of hard candies and now there was a kerfuffle over sorting, rescuing, and claiming all the various bits. Called upon to adjudicate, I approached it with the seriousness of a CANON lawyer faced with a thorny Church issue. I hemmed and hawed, weighed and balanced. The act, after all, was as important as the decision. In the end, all parties were pleased and order was restored in the playroom. As for me, I returned to my chair.

Georg’ann

There was no TRICK to finding myself
in worship this Sunday morning.
I sat.
I sat and looked out the window.
The sun in this Japanese maple
has become my favorite temple.
The CAUSE of stillness aided
by dreaminess, the weight
of time like a chenille blanket.
Musical layers come together
as a single CANON.
Birdsong, purring, soft snoring
and the lyrical voice of Pádraig Ó Tuama.
Each its own steady rhythm.

Heather