In the night I was awakened by the brightness of the moon. It was so bright I could see the fog beginning its slow creep over the ridge. The fog horn blew.
I woke this morning feeling the cool breeze and lay there like a flower opening its petals grateful for the touch.
I was enchanted with and comforted and reassured by Susan Cain’s book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking. Now, from Maria Popova, I learn of Susan Cain’s latest book Bittersweet: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole.
A friend today asks how I speak and write joyfully and easily about death. I don’t fear it. I feel it as part of the whole, the living and dying happening all the time, enriching our moments, our lives.
The fog is light today, a soft blanket. I sink into knowing and appreciating the birds that are birthing and the flowers that are opening, knowing I, too, fall away and change. I’m touched with tenderness as I circle, reflecting like the phases of the moon.