As I ponder on the ferocity of this forward movement, I breathe deeply and release my strangle hold. Though there is so much movement, at times I feel as if I am standing still. Not to stagnate, but to incubate, … Continue reading I must.
Pages of a story long told. Scissors a grandmother once lent her hand to. Carving out time, piece by piece, to bring back together in a whole new glory. Such small an effort broken down, yet a fine length of … Continue reading Paper Flowers.
Grateful in want not to waste. Continue reading Thy cup runneth over.