in the midmorning as I walk along the green. In the sun, the words with which He comes down from heaven, “like the dewfall”, glitter on all the tongues of grass. Until then I had never understood those words. Did He descend like the rain, or condensate like the sweat on the back of a lover’s neck? With Him bathing my feet I see that it makes no difference, that it does not matter how He gets here, what matters is that He’s here. And I walk along the green with God’s words on my feet.
The next day, early class. While the sun is still a rumor I cross the green again. This time, the sprinklers, automatic ch-ch-ch-ch-ch, evenly spread the dew over the grass. Thinking back to the day before, I shake my head and head for the sidewalk. Still, when the sprinkler touches me with a drop of reclaimed water, I cross myself all the same.