The clouds are a grey blanket this morning, kind spirits! The rain answers upon Home, the source of all Living things that we know of. Imagine my surprise? Imagine everyone that knows the old me, then imagine their shock and my awe... The clouds look like a woven collective, grey skin stretched taut around the stars, complete with the folds of truth, as if they are the covering around the Heart(H) of Creation. A cocoon. I will remember my purpose! (A thunderous roll puts Kiwi inside. Then the rain.) Thundering God, you needn't be angry, we got this. (It is not anger, scribe.) Then exclaim your self in the form of truth! (You are the one that is angry, scribe.) No. I am sorrowful, it is you that seems full of wrath and vengeance. (Great sorrow sometimes sounds like that, scribe.) © 2013 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime
(The Weaver's Song)