January 2012
8 posts
we didn’t stop until our pile of gathered sticks ran out.
(a collaboration by amber johnson and myself)
There is something about the past, something about my life before today. I can’t forget it because it informs who I am this Thursday, but it is so painfully gone. The whole past, good and bad, is gone and it is daily reminding me that it is growing older and more distant minute by minute. It’s a quandary, truly. And I don’t know how to untangle it. I think we are supposed to remember—that is why...
Branches aligned with pipes, a coincidental beauty that happens every day. We are given small miracles—little doses of grace—so many times in any given day: the sun rising pink and warm one minute later every morning, our hands finding the doorknob without looking, the shadows growing large and small as hours pass, thoughts shared over cups of tea warming throats and hands, the...
