Tell me the story now/Now that it’s over/Wrap it in glory/For one Irish Rover

Tell me you’re wiser now/Tell me you’re older/Wrap it in glory/For one Irish Rover

Tell me the facts real straight/Don’t make me over/Wrap it in glory/For one Irish Rover

Tell me you see the light/Tell me you know me

Make it come out alright/And warp it in glory

Van Morrison

+ + +

We are a story people because we are a heart people.

I remember pulling up to Sylvia’s grave site in late December before returning to Washington.  I was alone.  It was cold, very cold – the kind of cold that clears the nostrils and descends deep within, and it was cloudless – bright, with a sky that held the cold in a strong, still, quiet way.

Nothing moved in the cold.  Perfect stillness.

My footsteps on the snow broke the silence.  I walked my paces alone in the winter, as if the way of all long good-byes demanded only lonely footsteps.

Wordless, I stood where she rested.  Snow covered a bench at the base of a hill twenty paces to my right.  There it sat alone tucked away under the bare gray branches of a sleeping tree.

At thirty-something I now knew life as someone much older.  Time froze; she and I: a still-life photo I look at often.

Story.

Tell me the facts real straight.  Don’t make me over.  Tell me you know me.  Make it come out alright.  Now that it’s over.

A life rightly lived is a heart wrapped in a story.

Shalom.

Please grow with this – and share it with others if you wish.

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