Child, sit.

my beloved child, please come sit.
I hope to find you well, as time and circumstance have long separated us.

How are you? How has the world been to you?
How is your soul?--for this is my chief concern.

Please, please come sit, my brilliant boy.
Sit.
I've longed for many cold nights out here to talk with you.
I want to hear your stories.
I've seen your drudging, your enduring of life lately.
You seem awfully busy.
Why don't you sit? Tell me about it.

Its quite peaceful out here, isn't it?
This is my home. I made it. Out here, that is.
The wind whispers around like a friend,
and the grass will tickle your feet just enough to restore life,
but not agitate nerves.

And Me, I've been out here, awaiting the moment I could invite you over.
And now.
Oh now, glorious child, now I want to find all of you here with me.
Tell me.
Tell me of your changing, weathered life.
Tell me of all your Falls, the changings of time.
The slow evolve from life to death to bare bone trees.
Tell me of your cold, cold Winters.
Tell me of the times you froze your heart so no one could dare warm it again.
Tell me of how you melted to Spring,
and the slow drip of snow down your cheeks.
Tell me the first pluck of grass that sprouted from your skin like hair.
Tell me of the restorative sun in your life.
Who is it? what is it? What is your Sun, my son?
Tell me of your Summers and the sweat.
Tell me of all your salty exchanges.
Tell me of your stories.
Tell me of your anger and your struggle.
Tell me of pain.
Tell me of every ecstasy and tingle.
Tell me of grinning, beaming smiles.
Tell me of the alcoholic nights and sweet boozed kisses.
Tell me of laughter and intwined legs and arms and bodies.
Dont be modest or shy or prude. I want to hear it.
And tell me of your loneliness too.
Tell me of your boredom, your lull.

Tell me of your freedom and all that raptures you.

My son, I miss the intricacies of you.
Please come sit.

-God

Photo by Michael Seminer. Words by Jordan Shappell.