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.