Blue Prism

I've been busy since 7 am. Haven't sat down at my computer till now - and it is almost suppertime!

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This is a Blip of one of the stained glass windows at Sacred Heart Church in Norfolk, which we attend; the parish dates back to 1894.

From our church's history pages, I found this:

"...The building, designed by Peebles and Ferguson, Norfolk architects, is Florentine Renaissance style. The craftsmanship in the church is superb. Italian marble workers constructed the altars and carved the statues from Carrara marble. Outstanding features of the structure are the classic columns and arches as well as the open woodwork in the ceiling with its scrollwork on the beams. The Midmer-Losh pipe organ was built in 1927.

The stained glass windows were made by Franz Mayer & Co. of Munich, Germany. For their installation, the company sent a craftsman to spend a year to oversee the process...."


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Running away to my bit of quiet time, I wrote this poem just now, in response to the prompt today on Dave Bonta's "The Morning Porch".

Dave has also just archived the poem at Via Negativa.

This will be my 31st poem in the little series that we've assembled there, so far.



Rosary


"Everything changes, nothing remains without change." ~ Gautama Buddha


All day I moved from task to task-- washing and dressing, raising the shades, putting away clean dishes and utensils from last night as we waited for our youngest daughter to eat her bread and cheese and jam. We piled into the car and drove to church; there too it took some work to listen and tune in to the service, to homilies of being lost and found, the shuffle of collection baskets making their rounds. The wheel of standing-sitting-kneeling, attended by hymns and prayer. After church, we stopped for coffee and sandwiches, the Sunday paper; then went to the Asian grocery for rice (we like the "Milagrosa" brand), sweet bread and tea, mustard greens, and bitter melon. I bought three tiny good luck charms for the lunar new year: fingerling gourd with a buddha hidden in its hem, small brass urn, three-tiered pagoda. At noon, the streets were still surprisingly empty, not even harboring their usual noise. When the wind moved, bands of blue moved east and closed just before the sun could enter them. Everything grew still. When the wind died, it was completely quiet for fifteen seconds. I thought I saw a thousand-armed goddess step through the clouds; just one slight gesture of her hand multiplied in the air and prismed. A truck rumbled past. A siren blared. All around, colors fractured and glowed like pieces of stained glass.

~ Luisa A. Igloria
01 16 2011