There are dry bones and broken places. Yes. And, there is water , and healing enough for all of it. Cupping my hands to drink this morning, getting down low, the spot where I know …. My breath is prayer, and every prayer changes the atmosphere . There is joy in the small, and beauty in the morning routine , three teenagers dressing, eating, asking, arguing , singing, and walking out the door. There is a small wind and sweet smell blowing in my back door. I inhale as deeply as I can…prayer. It’s as still and as loud as it can be , all at once. There is an army rising but the weapons ,and the violence look vastly different than what I imagined. The weapons are tiny seeds planted, and the fighting is as gentle as that breeze blowing in.