Who holds the string - Part Three

Yearning for the sacred - as a baby, a toddler, a teen
Where and what was the pull, the attraction
The stories of heaven, a place in the sky
A place where God lived

Why did God live in the sky
Why not in the moist grass of the morning
The morning before anyone else was awake
My bare feet on the grass, surrounded by the not yet summer day's heat

They felt heavenly to me, those mornings, like what I thought might be a sort of gift
Granted the sky was blue and very beautiful and God could live there
But what matter did it make - the grass was green
Couldn't God be blue and green at the same time

The magic was in the mornings 'til the day I flew the kite
I looked up toward what might be heaven
And the kite seemed to rejoice in its fancy ballet
The kite thought it heaven and beckoned me to join in the dance

What was the string of God that I held from birth into childhood
The colors
The stories
Were they sky blue or grass green, were they true or made up

Was there another string
One attaching me to God and to heaven
It seemed a logical thought for an eight year old mind
Yet, was I holding the string or was the string holding me

Was I imagining God
Or was God imagining me
Did God cut the string or did I
Why did I think the kite was gone

I was and still am attached to the string and kite
To the blue and the green
To the stories
and to God

Photo SS - Colors and stones
Camp Cross 2008