we really are just dust mites whirling around in a cosmic storm.
what can we do but travel lightly to a new destination, or float on the waves of fate?
whether we get There, or remain suspended Here in stationary motion...
we are not in control.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
this space
what is this space?
it was my secret place, my tiny spring of words, hidden from passersby.
now i hesitate to come here for some cool shade, thoroughfare well established as it is.
company was sweet after the solitude of this quiet wood.
but today i need to sleep and dream, dappled quilt of light tucked over my shoulder, damp earth pressed to my cheek, living web surrounding my nest.
it was my secret place, my tiny spring of words, hidden from passersby.
now i hesitate to come here for some cool shade, thoroughfare well established as it is.
company was sweet after the solitude of this quiet wood.
but today i need to sleep and dream, dappled quilt of light tucked over my shoulder, damp earth pressed to my cheek, living web surrounding my nest.
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