Ellen plays her acoustic guitar, sings lowly; a forgotten and out of fashion hymn.
I sit cross legged at her feet, penitent and supplicant, asking for love and belief, and tenderness.
She holds onto faith and hope so much easier than I ever could. My only offering is charity.
At her feet I drink from a bottle of wine, and she sings of God drawing us close, as sorrows bring his grace.
I look up at her, her eyes closed, and she is distant from me because she is close to Him.
Head spinning, spirit drained away. I only loved God by loving her, made His tenants mine by wanting her favor.
Her voice is high and clear and as forlorn as the prairie wind outside, the true voice of praise and hope.