Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
These sycamore trees speak God's barest words in their rustling.
"Don't critique." "Don't endlessly try to fix what you see as wrong."
"Stay present." Breath. "Seek the lip of the bike path as your bench."
Breath. "Write." Breath. "Observe." Breath. "Listen." Breath. "Write."
My children howled with laughter at my Wii Mii, my first ever.
I laughed alongside them, a tiny shred of fearfulness hovering around my shoulders.
I daren't confess I truly thought I/she looked beautiful.
Inside I smile, widely.