Hum drum goodness; a collection of memories being made. Interesting how life becomes itself, unfolding past no seams. A blanket so immense that it covers our infinite grace, guiding us between patchwork to quilt our existence. Maybe we are unending. Maybe our souls flow freely between people and places. And with each day counted, we imagine a brighter sun and it comes. Boy has it come.
Anyway, it’s much – if not all – I can do to bring forth these phrases; these schemes toward no apprehension. I am forever indebted to them. I’m like a tree to its sap: even the mighty have a river flowing through them, discussing amongst itself the portions of warmth we shall be tapped for. One who offers their insides freely must always be kind, always be willing.
Oh, to be like a tree in its unfittered repose!
Oh, to be present in the duvet