Out of Mud

Lord, who hast form'd me out of mud...

Enrich my heart, mouth, hands in me,
       With faith, with hope, with charity;
       That I may run, rise, rest with thee.

- George Herbert

Ash Wednesday, yesterday, reminds us that we are dust, and to dust we shall return - I like how this British poet says mud instead of dust, and it's pretty muddy here at the moment, especially as a tractor is churning up the ground, dumping this soil near the house we're in.

Also, for me, a reminder of my mortality doesn't feel gloomy - it makes me want my life to count for something while I still have it. Which is why we've come to Portugal, after all.