Sabbath Greetings After Texas

I take my last bite of vanilla yogurt, sprinkled with ground, golden flax seed. The final contrast of smooth and gritty goes down. In the same moment I turn to the trinity of tiny windows that let too little light into my dining room (Tudors can be like that... designed to mute the sunny possibilities I've always loved).

Glancing through the winter-wearied glass, I see the little woods is lit up green. It was not so just four days ago, when I flew off to Texas for an artist's retreat. Did I consider how this place would blossom in my absence? Did I know?

I think of something one of the speakers said at the retreat. Something that disturbed me. I know he was telling the reticent artist to get up and get going, embrace ambition and stop waiting around for something to happen, as if things will just do that. It's a message for a certain kind of season. But I wondered if ambition could always be the answer. This is, if you will, my continuing thoughts on Sabbath come to life.

Which is grit? Ambition or waiting? Which is smooth? I swallow the two together, not knowing the answer. I swallow and marvel at the green parade outside my windows, yellow trumpets of forsythia already making way for lines of pink bleeding hearts. Sabbath thoughts. Smooth and gritty, marching on, going down.