Yesterday and today are exquisite, days when one can’t imagine anything more.  In the evening I sit and watch the moon with her increasing light.  It’s harvest time.

What is mine to  harvest?  

I place my hands over my eyes to feel within, to quiet thought, to come to rest. 

Fingertips tap like rain – asking for stillness between the drops – asking for the ribboned stretch and curl of a reply on which to lay my dreams trusting that all aligns.