hands

Thunder, pelting rain and then brilliant sunshine and the temperature has reached 20 Celsius. This afternoon I visited with an older woman who is slowly approaching death. She was sitting up and they had wheeled her into the corridor. She never really knows who I am. It doesn’t really matter. Her small hands, all sinew, bone with large deep purple veins enfolded my hand. She seemed beyond saying anything until I recite the Twenty Third Psalm and she mouths the words along with me. We share time and prayer and soon I leave as she retreats into suspended animation. I have done a lot of things today, but that brief interlude was probably the most important.