I go to bed early these days though it seems late, but then I rise at 2 or 3, light a candle, sit with a cat on my lap and peel layers of velvet in the dark.

Last night I watched as dusk came, a soft blend of violet deepening into black.

This morning I feel my heart as I take in the news, news so depressing one can only use it as a knife to open and carve even more deeply and gently into the tints and hues of how we love.

My book group met yesterday and we discussed Anne Patchett’s Dutch House.  It deals with forgiveness, but also how we each might be inspired to “do good” or “be good”.  What does that mean to each of us, and how do we receive another’s needs even as we process and proceed with our own?

We also discussed how influenced we might be by family patterns and habits.  How do we choose, form, and cultivate our way? How do we listen and bring forth what is ours to bring forth in our lives, right here, right now, this amazing, miraculous, unique day?

I have no answers other than to know that when I’m up early, I seem touched by radiance as though I’m a candle and the wick is lit from within.  

Lately, I find myself with the paintings of Georgia O’Keefe, her focus on the iris, and I come to one I painted years ago, though I don’t paint but something drew my hand needing to come through.  I look at it now and it’s as though the flower is a figure dancing at the end of a delicate branch.  

May your day evolve transitioning softly light to dark and dark to light as mine does now.  Again there is a purple tint in the wrap of fog, layers of fragrance, skinned, like trust revealed and held in the center, the core, the ovary of the flower we are, the berth that births.

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