But you do. Your anchors keep you in place. Anchors like these. The sound of chamomile tea brewing, nightly, sipping slowly silently in the threshold of another day ending. All is well. Preparing your favourite curry like a magician meticulously mixing her concoction – cutting the vegetables, fiercely, dropping the spices in with abundance. TheContinue reading “I don’t know who I am anymore”
"May my body be for what it was intended: an expression of Your grace. And what small ways I make with this poetry – what songs and friendships I form, what migrations and ripples I disturb in the world – may they have something of Your signature on them"
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