Grace

The sun crested the dry, brown autumn hills this morning and flooded my bedroom with a rich orange light. Clouds streaked with pink and crimson lay brilliant behind the skeletons of cottonwoods, sinewy power lines. I snapped a photo, knowing it would never capture the grace there in those skies. I thought, “thank you”.

It’s good to be alive.

cenobyte
cenobyte is a writer, editor, blogger, and super genius from Saskatchewan, Canada.

i make squee noises when you tell me stuff.

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