The loneliest part of moving to a new place is not being seen...
fading into the sidewalk as their glances shoot through you to a friend they see behind.
No hurried "however are ya's",
No "hey, I was just thinkin' about ya's"
Not even the veriest, teeniest, little blink of a nod
that says "I know who you be, just can't talk now."
Only the cursory glance from the civil,
The uncaring, scowl from the rude,
And the blind stare of those who hate by apathy.
But overhead the same bright sun on the leaves, and you know by night you'll recognize the same glorious moon.
God is no stranger.
For Sunday Scribblings.