Do you ever see yourself in the story?

Maybe that’s the whole point of the storytelling

People like to get lost in the details and then they end up yelling

That happens in stories too

Of late, I’m a sort of Pharoah with a change of heart

But mine’s grown softer for real, not hard

I’ve been Eve (we all have) – questioned what I’ve been told and ultimately deceived

But lately I can’t stop thinking about a promise and about Abraham’s seed

So I ride my bike in late winter and think back as far as I can remember

There is nothing new under the sun

I see the generations one by one

There’s a kid on his bike – he waves at me and kindly says “hi”

And it does something to me like the spark in my husband’s eye

I’m thinking about blue skies and dinosaurs

Maybe it’s the emergence of spring

But I’m hearing bells ring

We’re all on bikes, just passing through, like the clouds

There’s a weight that needs lifting in the interim

A removal of the shrouds

Life is a pendulum

Winter and spring

Talking and listening

Death and life

What do I do about Christ?

In the middle of the story, in the middle of my story

There’s a big stone that’s been rolled away

Can I follow?

Everyone is the seed

That nice kid on the bike, my husband, even those that are mean

Here I am, caught in between

Trying to know

Thinking about dinosaurs – in fields, on blankets, on walls

The story calls

And this one, kid, is yours