It blows down dry streets in eddies, dead. It gathers in corners. It forms into rich earth, and out of it sprout tiny seeds. It compacts into warm and rich clay, which can be cut and slammed and shaped by hands and wheel into pots, and bowls and little figures of stout women and tiny men. It blows in the stellar winds in furthest space. It is dust.
My thinking was challenged on Ash Wednesday with this beautifully written post over on the Thinking Anglicans website. Today I was challenged again as we visited a tin mine where, essentially tin ‘dust’ is transformed into something of use. I guess i have aways considered the negative and penitential side of dust, rather than the potential. Go read more here