I watch the fog move in and out, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes wisps, and other times a clasped presence.  Sometimes I see it moving but it doesn’t advance. It dissipates, unseen.

As I watch the fog, I read from The Hidden Lamp, learn that in Chinese lore it is said that the chicken listens with her heart to hatch her eggs.  

I read of the El Paso shootings.  

I listen with my heart.

The evening fog returns

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s