pressed

October and November have always been hard months for me, even before Emt was sick.  Work is at its most demanding during these months, and my annual cold waits for the least convenient moment to knock me out for a couple weeks.

Images of grapes being crushed in the winepress or raspberries being pressed through a sieve linger in the back of my mind, I suppose because I feel a lot like the fruit right now.  So I'm waiting.

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,
and in his word I put my hope.
My soul waits for the Lord,
more than watchmen wait for the morning,
more than watchmen wait for the morning. (Psalm 130: 5-6)