I can’t see any boxes.
I could still see those garbage bags on the patio, but it is too dark outside and they are backlit by the lamp on the desk by the wall next to the table that has some stereo equipment on it. The songbird in the morning will see those bags, and I will too for a few more days I suppose. I won’t see the songbird but I will hear her. And I am hanging a curtain over the patio window soon so I won’t see those bags, even in the light. They are still there of course
And those boxes still exist, too, but they are broken down and in the recycling bins. I guess if a box is broken down, it only exists in potentiality as a box. In its broken state, it is corrugated paper.
Some of the thirty mail tubs that I actually packed in are emptied, but all the rest are in the kitchen, out of sight, and that is the project for tomorrow evening—after Sabbath has ended, that is.
It began just over a couple of hours ago, Sabbath did, and (Yea, since I was healed of my lame idea of the average 6:45, I have more time in the evenings! I know, however, that this winter it won’t be so, but I am thinking it will no longer matter), I confess I worked right through it. This space needed some balance and I did what I could. I will work all day tomorrow anyway, right through the remainder of Sabbath, but in the Shade. That’s why it won’t matter so much in the fall and winter when the days are shorter . . . I hope.
The music all day was befitting children of the King of the Universe, and right now it is getting so sweet and tender that it makes me want to curl up in Dad’s chair which is precisely what I am doing.
But this isn’t really about boxes and bags, It’s about not seeing and yet knowing. Because we walk and move by faith, not sight. And besides, there is always listening; and here is something for that:
I was listening to it at 11:11.
Oh, one other thing: all of this is also about giving you a reason why I took so long to wish you Shabbat Shalom . . .