Monday morning at 7:03 am. A layer of gray is settling across the heavy closed sky and threatening Monday rain. The water creeps into my cold bones that yearn only for the warmth of sun. A pause now to touch paper, hold this pen, see what grows from the heart. Before long, night will arrive,
Anyways, breathe. Breathe. Pausing here, as I write the words, to feel the oxygen filling me as if for the first time. Noticing. This is life. The day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute. The waves of exasperation and irritation, and yes, shame and guilt and uncertainty too, dancing amongst the touches of