Undercast
by Deidre Price
If the weather were a wardrobe,
I’d have to call
the foggy day
the negligée.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
The Theology of Scrapbooking
by Deidre Price
I have been hit in the eye at least a dozen times with a
flash of light. I chalked it up to refraction, reflection, an infrared
something—tens of things that make science look good, the stuff of theories and
laws.
My first instinct each time was to duck and cover, to shut
my eyes as though my brain were a basement, and all of us, the many minions in
my mind, were hunkering down for a storm. My body was Kansas. My second
instinct, if a follow-up response can be classified as an instinct, was to
locate the source, to take a prisoner.
The easy thing was my ring. Beauty attracts beauty, so light
finds it, worms its way through it and pops out, a victor, on the other side,
unconcerned with the cost of its appearing, a presumptive guest in enemy
territory.
Another guess was a person’s watch, some pestering Curious
Rabbit who is late and slinging around his personal clock like a plaything,
unaware that light is hitching a ride and spinning off daggers like nobody’s
business.
My third thought is more a confession of my neuroses and
paranoia. I imagined a juvenile sharp shooter, a laser light striking me right
between the eyes, and a crowd erupting in laughter over my face, the ignorant
target.
I believe in science, in consequents and antecedents, in the
grammar of life.
But I also believe God has taken up scrapbooking and is filling
his pages with me.
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