Her feet hit the concrete slab of her narrow urban front porch. Last thoughts run through her mind. "Did she shut off the coffee pot, curling iron, flat iron?" She presses on. Removing another parking ticket from her windshield she kicks the dirt off her boots and starts the car. Looks in the mirror, takes a deep breath and puts the car in drive. She takes notice of the people along her daily commute. Some are the usual but daily there's a new story shown on a new face. There's a lady at the crosswalk. The woman is about 5 ft 6 in, medium build with long curly orange hair. Tense and distracted she tugs at her skirt and smooths her shirt over her slightly extended stomach, she pulls her blazer tight and proceeds to cross. Maybe she's off to an interview, or a court hearing, maybe it's a regular day at a regular job nonetheless, Lord, soothe her tension.
The traffic light changes and she begins her short drive. She sighs deeply as she passes a large area known for its many hidden homeless communities. There's a quiet curiosity in her, nonetheless, Lord, provide their needs.
She arrives at her destination. Another deep breath and a smile on her face. An earthly place of refuge for her racing thoughts, a distraction, a stage, curtains drawn; Lord, be my strength.
Her day offers her enough solitude from herself. At times questions arise that remind her that she is on display. She gasps to hold in an eager tear from forming. She swallows the lump inside of her throat and behind a smile she restrains the response.Time further treats the pangs of her present pain.
Her feet hit the concrete slab of her narrow urban front porch. She knows that soon she will be alone with her thoughts. She might entertain them enough tonight, enough to surrender them.To entertain would mean to allow the emotion to flow again from the depths of her being. To dismiss them would mean to allow them a permanent residence in her already scorned and fragile heart. Lord, be my rest.
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