And so,

The close of another week, another seven days of pure life. All is at movement and play in the world. Glorious and of the epic have some daily tales unfolded; tales of victory: bright stripes of color that rise above the cloudy, the uncertain, the gray. The days where an orange strikes with chords of brilliant citrus: a flavor that scares shadow. Days when one finds much dark has been displaced.
Clouds have fallen! Defeated from their celestial heights, I see them fleeing. They flee from the sun. Bright victor, I give my praise to your wielder (whose hand has guided). A lament the clouds left; frozen tears falling like ashes--like feathers all the gray day. Reconstitute: add warmth. Like many frozen emotions, with the right temperature we water the world, and with the moistness comes the green, growing, living, breathing. Frozen things can't breathe: a little sun to warm them, and we all can.
I saw a bug this week! A bee! Portent of spring! Winter, your defeat is imminent: The bee (tiny bee) told me so.
Being, talking, reading, walking up a hill. Sitting, looking, feeling, laughing. A date. I went on a date. I feel I have defeated something... or rather, have succeeded at something. Have had a victory. Nothing need have fallen to grant this glory. A wonderful date. Hooray!
I felt a tree. I reached out and felt it. sturdy and solid. Rough, but graceful limbs spreading in the night light. A park in the evening, solitary and orange against street lamps. Serenity feels something like that tree, still slumbering. I read next to it.
The Sacrament. The greatest of victories. Once again that remembrance taken, that covenant made. Victory!
Victory.
A weeks victories.