Vespers was in our little old church this evening, and very beautiful in every way. Beforehand a few of us read an akathist prayer to Mother Olga of Alaska by candlelight. I think the wood paneled walls of this church are infused with 80 years’ worth of incense; something makes it smell good even when no services have been held recently. But tonight we had fresh incense, as well as warm singing and earnest supplications.
EVENING
Another word I love is evening
for the balance it implies, balance
being something I struggle with.
I suppose I would like to be more
a planet, turning in & out of light.
It comes down again to polarities,
equilibrium. Evening. The moths
take the place of the butterflies,
owls the place of hawks, coyotes
for dogs, stillness for business,
& the great sorrow of brightness
makes way for its own sorrow.
Everything dances with its strict
negation, & I like that. I have no
choice but to like that. Systems
are evening out all around us—
even now, as we kneel before
a new & ruthless circumstance.
Where would I like to be in five
years, someone asks—& what
can I tell them? Surrendering
with grace to the evening, with
as much grace as I can muster
to the circumstance of darkness,
which is only something else
that does not stay.
-Jeremy Radin
I’ve been taking evening walks, and have been loving the way the light catches different aspects of the plants from what I see in the morning, even the very early morning. It’s been a wonderful week, with lots of time for me to catch up on a hundred different things, but in an unhurried way. More on all that, and the creekside views, to come.
Tonight I just want to show you a view that I have out my kitchen window for much of the day. The pink-orange hummingbird mint in the sun, me in the shade, I see it across the garden as a delicate curtain, with other flower heads also floating off to the side. I need to remember not to plant anything that will block it out of my sight when I’m standing at that counter. The picture was taken this evening.
Gladsome Lights 