The last of the weekday grunge is wiped clean, so that you are empty and waiting.
The first sweetness and warmth of Shabbat feed your rising song, and each psalm brings a new ingredient. You dance back and forth, mixing together into a pliable mass that folds in on itself, kneading in and out with the pace of a heartbeat. Emotions press softly outward, voices weave together, in a mindfully prepared and delicious symphony.
And in the end, if there is fire in your prayers, you will create something that can sustain you.
