Blossoms falling, beauty fading by degrees,drying lighter and frail, shrinking to a wither—and
it seems to be the way of things.
It is.
It thrives.
Death seems a very lifelong way off.
But it is here now, and we lived as if it would never come.
And the loss presses,
heavy,
and the moments fade, except in the photographs of those frozen joys.
And the sadness could run deep—blood deep, bone deep—if
it weren’t for the hope in the everlasting provision of grace,
in the Everlasting.
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