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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2021-04-28 23:25:04 -07:00
parent d4622ba2f0
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2 changed files with 3 additions and 3 deletions
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writing/sawtooth/index.md
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@ -16,7 +16,7 @@ In which sad queer animals experience Idaho.
* [X] Story: [What Defines Us](what-defines-us)
* [X] Story: [Centerpiece](centerpiece)
* [X] Story: [The Fool](the-fool)
* [o] Collection: *A Wildness of the Heart* (WT)
* [o] Collection: *A Wildness of the Heart* (WT) (artist: https://campsite.bio/nomax ?)
* [O] Story: [Gigs](happy-lesbians)
* [o] Story: [Aposematism](aposematism)
* [o] Story: [Chaotic Element (WT)](chaotic-element)

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writing/sawtooth/limerent-object/discernment.md
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@ -78,7 +78,7 @@ His head was too full. Too full of words and feelings that language failed to ex
God spoke to him, then.
As ever, His voice was not in words, but woven into the world around him. A breeze came up from Stump lake, bearing with it the sent of water, of rotting vegetation, and overlaid atop it, a sweetness he could not place. It was floral, yes, but also fruity, so sweet as to make his mouth water.
As ever, His voice was not in words, but woven into the world around him. A breeze came up from Stump lake, bearing with it the scent of water, of rotting vegetation, and overlaid atop it, a sweetness he could not place. It was floral, yes, but also fruity, so sweet as to make his mouth water.
He bristled his whiskers, and breathed in deeply, his eyes scanning trees lit by the occasional yellow sulfur lamp, stark battlements against the night sky. God spoke to him in the way his eyes perceived the night to fade from a blue-tinged gray at the tree-line up to the star-stained black above him. He spoke in the feeling of the short blades of grass poking up through the bristly fur of his tail, and He spoke in the citrus tang of a confession forming in Dee's mouth.
@ -140,7 +140,7 @@ And so he waited.
Dee wished it were night. He wished he could once more sit in the quad and look up at the stars, or down at the grass and try to differentiate the shades of green, there in the dark where color eluded him, to find in that liminal state some sensation of the Lord.
At least he could get get up from where he was and away from this edifice of concrete and glass. It was, he was promised, beautiful in its own way. But around behind the Abbey, toward the lake, a small path wound through the woods, and there, between the trees and beside the water, stood the statue of St. Kateri Tekakwitha, the only other coyote saint he'd ever come across, and the saint most venerated by his father back home.
At least he could get up from where he was and away from this edifice of concrete and glass. It was, he was promised, beautiful in its own way. But around behind the Abbey, toward the lake, a small path wound through the woods, and there, between the trees and beside the water, stood the statue of St. Kateri Tekakwitha, the only other coyote saint he'd ever come across, and the saint most venerated by his father back home.
*...O Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is great power to redeem...*