The days where I am unsure of what needs to be said are the days I know I have work to do - shedding more layers.
A quiet day...again.
I did find a line from a Rumi poem that speaks of truth:
The mystery does not get clearer by repeating the question.
Photo - me and my brother, Summer 1977.
Together we hiked and picked wildflowers for our mom. It was one of those rare and heavenly moments when I had my brother all to myself and he was paying attention to only me.
No comments:
Post a Comment