Gone with the wind

Walking home across town, my heart misses another beat.

I had chicken breyani with Celeste. But no wine for me for forty days while I'm in the desert, but making my Lenten journey to Jerusalem, for the crucifixion.

I'm on life support.

I'm also Gone with the Wind; it's a staid-even-paced-hurricane of my heart that calms me down, but simultaneously pushes up my pulse in anticipation of 'a REAL life. A life full of God's riches - marriage, children, grandchildren. I know, woah, it's a big thing to say upfront. But that's me.'

The fine-hard-constant rain begins to come down, flushing my-face-and arms-and-legs. I push into it.
The farmers in the valley call it 'kieza'; the fine-hard-welcone-rain that can come, and hover between the low-slung, pregnant sky and an increasingly sodden earth for days...with neither lightning, thunder, nor wind as companions.
That's when I cocoon myself into my bed, amongst books, hand by the fireplace. And a goofy smile on my face as I stare dreamily south eastwards.