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.