Let my life not be measured by gold or productivity or towers built for someone to later knock down Instead, let it be measured by the number of kisses on my neck, my forehead, my lips (and elsewhere). Let my life be measured by the number of times I have heard or spoken the words…
“Look at the beautiful, green buds!” she exclaimed. “I worry for them. It’s only February,” he replied. Now, it’s nearly April and the leaves are unfurling and stretching to the sun. He’s not here to see that and yet it’s happening all the same. Faith trumps worry.
A few things I’ve noticed in my travels. You probably have too. Just here in Seattle listening to some trance music and pondering the past ten years. Jotting this down as a little cairn. 1. If someone can’t give you a bit of space in a relationship [read: they are terrified of being away from…
