Wednesday, 2:50 p.m. The wildflowers we planted in the frontyard are starting to sprout. Outback a couple of intinerit sparrows have taken up residence in the blue birdhouse Nathanael’s parents gave us, and we have planted some eucalyptus and an orchird bulb by a large, old stump, around which, from time to time, cigars are smoked. Our herbs look like they’ll do well. Inside, the Easter lilly we bought is rapidly blooming as if to testify the approaching axis mundi around which all creation revolves, and the callalillies look of good cheer. It is only late March and already the air conditioning is on.

We had our first ultrasound this afternoon. The baby was in fine form, curled up in a ball, oddly still, revealing no mysteries, as per our wishes. The baby’s size corresponds to 21.4 weeks, which has us scratching our heads.

Tomorrow we drive to Pensacola and then fly to Minneapolis to spend the weekend with my family, and observe the rest of Holy Week at St. Dunstan’s.

Things

What happened is, we grew lonely
living among the things,
so we gave the clock a face,
the chair a back,
the table four stout legs
which will never suffer fatigue.

We fitted our shoes with tongues
as smooth as our own
and hung tongues inside bells
so we could listen
to their emotional language,

and because we loved graceful profiles
the pitcher received a lip,
the bottle a long, slender neck.

Even what was beyond us
was recast in our image;
we gave the country a heart,
the storm an eye,
the cave a mouth
so we could pass into safety.

–Lisel Mueller

Tim and David Bayly are two pastors from the Presbyterian Church of America that have driven to Pinellas, Florida, to speak out on behalf of the life of Terri Schiavo and against the wickedness of the courts. Updates are available at Baylyblog.

‘All love songs must contain duende. For the love song is never truly happy. It must first embrace the potential for pain. Those songs that speak of love without having within in their lines an ache or a sigh are not love songs at all but rather Hate Songs disguised as love songs, and are not to be trusted.’

–Nick Cave