There’s no getting around the fact. It’s cold. Quite cold, mild Midwestern winter cold, which for here is bitter cold. The birdbath never did thaw today, and tonight the chill came even stronger.

The chill air meant I stayed busy despite myself, for my mind becomes so able that even idleness results in some level of productivity. I cleaned, and designed, and considered, and thought. All of this with the hope, if not the reality, of tasting of heaven at least a little bit.

It didn’t work out this way, though I know that often in this progress is made when one feels none has been. So, I press onwards, trying to seize hold of that for which Christ has seized hold of me.

There is only that.