Living water flows out through the east gate. In Ezekiel’s vision.
Getting larger. Deeper. The further he walks.
Fruitful, leafy trees line this ever-growing river of life. Providing for the needs of the people.
And revealing what’s to come.

Living water flows out through the east gate. In Ezekiel’s vision.
Getting larger. Deeper. The further he walks.
Fruitful, leafy trees line this ever-growing river of life. Providing for the needs of the people.
And revealing what’s to come.
Light falls. Through the archway. Across timeworn stones.
We sit in cool shade. Island breeze, soft. The old city, silent.
Footsteps echo in narrow passageways. Against ancient walls. In Malta.
Climbing uneven steps, we look out across a valley. Small villages scattered here and there. White houses. Flat roofs.
These stretch out to a defined edge. On the Mediterranean Sea.
In the bare bones
of a waking day,
I sit.
Still.
War and rumors of war advancing.
Overtaking.