Writing Prompt: Today I will....

Today I will enjoy the sunshine, warm on my back.
Today I will let this warmth penetrate my sore muscles and allow the heat to relax my tension away.
Today I will remember that in this moment I have everything I need.
Today I will practice being a detached, but conscious, observer.
Today I am listening to the birds singing.
Today, as I look at Patricia’s back yard, I take comfort in the yellow of dandelions, the green of the grass, the glory of the double red tulips and the sweet pink blossoms of the peach tree.
Today I am full of grace and gratitude.
Today I may splurge for the new designer black raspberry ice cream with dark chocolate chips that costs double what I typically spend.
Yes, today I will !

*annette

War

War

War. More War. Big Business

War.

and who will fight these wars

sons and daughters

who will die or be maimed or

maybe just

have post traumatic stress

disorder

War is always ugly.

always

I can't figure out how it is

possible that we create all

the beautiful things

see nature roar

watch children grow

and believe war fits in this

picture

Is it so hard to imagine another

way to resolve

conflict and make money

Sometimes I think I must be on

the wrong

planet

when did we get it so wrong and

decide to

let the military dictate

a mess

but don't worry because we

don't

have to see it

It is hidden, not for public

viewing

but we pay,

we all pay.

It's a sad day.

Mary

Trust

“Trust you own process.” my aunt said. As the words resonated within I relaxed and let the current take me. It was all making sense. Each and every part perfect. As I allowed this space to myself I could see all facets in their perfection radiating. Each and every moment perfect. I just allowed.

Often we give others their voice but not our own. I’m surprised with clarity at how clear it can be. The diamonds of light sparkle on water’s surface to reflect the wonder of the meeting of two.

I sink deeper into the quiet of the current, knowing it knows where I am headed. Knowing all is deeply well. Knowing, allowing, process and the light of clear waters wash over me.

Mary

Dancing with Horses.

Dancing with your Horse was the name of the clinic. Our instructor, Cindy Loader, is a level three graduate of the Parelli program who also happens to be a belly dancer. How fun is that? The price was right and I signed up. The day of the clinic the sky was low and threatened rain, and I wondered for a moment what in the heck I was doing? There was a really good chance that I wouldn’t know a single person there and it could easily be a cold, wet experience to boot. I fixed a cup of coffee for the road, loaded my beautiful horse into the trailer and off we went, almost ready for a new experience.

The focus of the clinic was to get in rhythm with your horse. Cindy said, if you can’t get in rhythm with your horse, you cannot expect them to get in touch with you. Although it is important for the human to be the leader, we could invite our partner to dance with us instead of feeling like we are making them bend to our will. Wouldn’t it be awesome if our horse was participating because they wanted to be with us? Another way I am reminded that Respect is a two way street.

On the ground, we led our horses around the arena, matching their footfalls. Her left foot moves forward and I step out with my left, right foot, left foot hesitates, right foot. The clinic participants came in as many shapes and sizes as the horses, and the noise level dropped as we all concentrated on getting in sync with our long legged partners. Horses communicate with body language; they are always aware of each others proximity and mood. I sense that Lakota is curious about this new game, her ears and eyes let me know that she is paying attention. After a few rounds at a walk we added new elements to our dance, turning and returning to the rail, and attempting to stop in sync without any cues form the lead line. And then we threw the lead lines over the horses back and tried to do the same routine with out holding on to them at all.

I found myself grabbing Lakota’s halter and placing her back where I intended her to be. Cindy caught me in the act and corrected me, inviting me to find a new way to communicate with Lakota without touching her. I got a little frustrated and saw my type “A” personality in clear perspective, my need to control the situation, doing what I always do, trying to make it look right ... totally forgetting that the clinic was called “Dancing with your Horse” ~ not ~ “How to do Relate to your Horse as you Always Have, You Big Bully”.

I asked for help. Cindy showed me several ways to accomplish what I was trying to do in a more respectful manner. Lakota responded willingly, she was paying attention. She was ready to get with the new program and play this game! Taking a few deep breaths I relaxed, put a smile on my face and stepped forward in a new way. I liked it. Lakota liked it. We were partners and I was leading the dance. It didn’t always look pretty but that would come with practice.

Stepping it up a notch, Cindy told us our next challenge. One by one, each of the participants took the halters off their horse as we applied our new skills to see if we could keep our horses tuned in to us, as they were actually free to go wherever they wanted. All of the sudden the small corral we were all in seemed so much bigger! Let me just say that some dance steps looked better than others and leave it at that. We all gained knowledge from each others mistakes and learned as we laughed; knowing that each one of us was going to have to play our way through this new experience.

Back at home I have been practicing with my very patient horse, the new ideas that I brought home from the clinic. But the light bulb went off this morning. What if I applied these techniques to my two legged relationships? What if I made a more conscious effort to get in rhythm with my human partners? My limited experience on the ballroom dance floor has illuminated a lack of communication, learning to follow instead of taking the lead is a challenge. I do feel like I have worked on my overwhelming need to control, enrolling year after year in Control Issues 101, and yet just a few minutes with my horse showed me how much more I still need to learn. She, by the way, is a great dancer!!

* annette

Peace and Love

I recently wrote a story about Fruition. Letting it gel a few more days I realized there was a piece that hadn't bubbled up into my awareness.  We do all this work, in my case four years in my garden, before the rewards of everything coming together are seen. I wrote how important it is to take in the nourishment of enjoying our creation, of enjoying the season of fruition. It can be a long hard season of working in the dark, of struggles you couldn't have predicted; of foes never seen but still they called up a strength and courage you didn't know you had till needed. So much like life I guess. But I realized as we keep working, keep moving forward, keep motivating there is something in us that pulls all this work out of us. A vision of creating something, of a better environment, of moving in the world with some sense of peace about what you do.  It resides within us yet we are pushed forward to create, to allow this thing to be in the world. It doesn't matter if what we are up to is small or big in the world's view.  It may be your energy goes to being with your grandchildren, taking time for an elder or in my case hauling rocks for my garden.  Some guiding force tells you what is yours to do.  And it feeds you, in the soul sense, along the way. The more we align with its voice, even if something isn't always easy, (and trust me hauling rocks is not easy) there is a sense that its right. The more we allow that voice to guide us, to honor it's inherent wisdom, the more we have a life that's opening to something greater, a vision. Vision doesn't have to be huge.  It can be as simple as more peace and love today, through me. 

Peace and love to you. Drink it in. 

Mary

The Gift

In this death,
there’s been an intersection of beauty, truth and freedom.
It carries me to shores further along
than I’ve been in a long while.

With new views, feelings and certainties.
I am renewed in knowing the beauty of now,
the power of this moment,
and the grace of all things.

I attempt to pick up words to
touch this grace.
Useless.
Yet here I am.

A humble gratitude pours forth.
I’m in awe of the potent force that
swept clear a lifetime of
false ideas.

I lived within those ideas for so long,
I couldn’t see them.
They become part of the frame
I was looking through.

They limited me, as does this tool of words.
Some gifts are eternal.
Not made for pictures or words,
reserved for new shores and heart to hear.

Mary

Candlelight

You gave me a candle, lit.
I did what everyone was doing,
what I saw, was taught and what I learned.
To build walls, upon walls
calling them all kinds of names, justifications, separations.
After all you have to protect that light…that small precious candlelight.
Taller, tougher, thicker walls…walls within walls…but, eventually
all walls fall, you know that…all must come down.

They restrict movement, dull illumination, stop expansion, and inhibit vision. A maze of walls, so tall, one forgot why they created and entered into them. What were they protecting?
Ultimately we take them down, any way we can.
We pray them down, smash them down, therapy them down, honor them down, and if we are lucky we love them down. But just get them down, anyway we can.

That little light, candle flickering light, grows within, restless, calling out
“Why all the focus on the walls, the protections, the separation, the illusions? What about me?”

In the beginning there was only light. and you so excited…..bubbled your way out…pop…a tiny bubble of light hurling through the universes to pop, just for a moment into this one tiny world, with your candlelight. And then you forgot and built walls-for the fun or fear of it. But then you got tickled and started to remember and remember and re-member the light….that you are.

Mary

Playing It By Ear

I’m being called to peer into the saying “Playing It By Ear.” Words I’ve walked by, used casually and all of a sudden was stopped to acknowledge more deeply. Like a tree you’ve seen a million times and suddenly, maybe because of the angle of sunlight, notice it’s beauty. I'm reminded of the two times out of hundreds, that I was on one of my Betasso hikes. Near the start of the three-mile loop, no matter which direction you begin, are signs warning of Mountain Lions in the area. Well ninety-nine point eight percent of time I just walk by those signs without a thought, often to the point of not even noticing them. But two times the sign stopped me in my tracks, lit up and was trying to tell me something. I did take note, was extra watchful and both of those times found a fresh deer leg on the trail. This confirmed the mountain lion was about but also that he’d recently eaten, a slightly more comforting thought. But what forewarned me? Part of a subtler information system that informs us of critical data? Can it work for the mundane things as well? All things, in all times?

“Playing It by Ear” is generally referenced to musicians that can “accurately reproduce a melody one has heard without needing written music.” They don’t have to read, practice or study they just know it. I would imagine a desired quality for anyone musically inclined. I find myself using the saying, as many do, in the content of “I’m not sure now but will see how it feels in the moment.” I’ll listen to something inside of me and make the call when I have to. It acknowledges an inner voice, an inner knowing, that “I’ll know when I know” so I better not make a plan now. Some part of us knows all the information is not in yet to make that decision. This recognition of an inner listening, not unlike the musicians, is calling me, requiring I give it more than just a passing glance. Maybe it’s as simple as acknowledging it exists, tuning in a little closer to its whisperings. Just as the musician hears, trusts and translates what he hears into music, knowing exactly what to do, so maybe can I.

I’ve got to think that information system is always there. The ability to hear and trust what I hear is maybe what moves in and out like a melody that is sometimes clearer than other times. Maybe the more I develop an “ear” for listening, the more I'll hear and see the music in my life. I think I’ll play this one by ear...

Mary

Innocence

Washing over all cells
its healing balm
held inside its syllables
release, cleanse, imaginary
beliefs

its soothing sound
falls all around
dances between
illusions of wrong
doings

fills the cup
to the brim
over flowing grace
innocence in its place

drink deeply its song
let it carry you along
singing its way
throughout your day

Reaching its hand
through all your plans
touching your heart
giving a new start

Innocence in dewdrops
rain and sun
open and let it come.

Mary

Writing Prompt: What I Resist Writing About

What I resist writing about? I resist the notion of picking anything. I think "Why even think about what I don't want to write about?" Why place the chain, assign such a label, on any subject? It is all so new. Each day, each time I sit to write, I find my way down the path of words and ideas to step off into an eddy, a side world filled with rich, tasty treats that were previously unknown. Or maybe it is a familiar smaller pathway, like the deer trails I like to find and explore on my walks. They often veer off the main trail and, I've found, can take you to unexpected treasures. I always think "Well, if the animals take this way, I might too and discover something only they know about." When I'm on those trails I like to imagine the fox or deer walking along knowing he is out of sight of the humans but not too far away either. So too with my mind heading into all arenas, following thoughts into unchartered territory, that often lead to new insights, off the beaten track and even into realms I might resist.

So how can I label some area off limits? I might need something from one of those places I said I resist or rebel against. Each and every moment along the way of life could be a source, a tidbit, of crucial information. You never know when you'll need that experience or feeling you had or heard about for a description. I could see myself scrambling though those drawers, the ones I put the label of "Don't want to write about." to find that one person, word or experience I need for a poem or fiction piece. I guess I'm reluctant to rule out anything at this stage. I think all things, occurrences and people are redeemable - to be used again. I might just want to dig that old boyfriend up out of the grave of unsuccessful relationships, dust him and his memories off someday to add color to a character or highlight a particular trait he embodied so well. Or he may mirror some part of myself that wasn't able to be there when I needed it to be, a story that may be waiting in the wings that needed a couple of decades of marinating inside of me before it could surface. So how can I say I don't want to write or I resist writing ....this is my resistance, my rebellion, not choosing any subject.

Mary

Mysticism

Sunshine and warmth from within. Wake up bathing in contentment, something out of reach of words and happy for it to be so.  If a worry thought arose it would be eaten up by this way to good feeling humming inside.  Bees bathing in the sun, knowing without a thought the world is good and holy.  Just that.  Not a big story or aha, a subtle swirl of a skirt and everything looks a little different, lighter, closer to what is real outside our minds.  Mind wants to be busy and label everything.  Even swirling skirts and buzzing bees. This feeling ate up everything, even labels.  It was a little like being empty space with warm, buzzing twirling sensations that seemed to be happy about anything....didn't matter what, it just buzzed a little more, twirled or felt warm...all those words fall short of a visit I encountered with a love that doesn't fit in the hat box of thoughts or even feelings that I so often live in.

Mary

Laura, Under a Bridge

When my girlfriend picked me up at the Park & Ride as we carpooled to Denver to volunteer at the National Western Stock Show, I noticed another woman in her car. Kay came running around to my car door to explain. On a calculated whim, she had picked up this gal who was hitchhiking and wanted to know if I was okay with taking her to Denver. “If not, she’s prepared to get out here. But, we’ve been talking and I think she’s okay,” Kay said “and it is just so damned cold out.” I looked over and saw a round faced Indian woman wearing a heavy coat and carrying a big back pack. Memories of my own hitchhiking days flashed quickly across my inner screen and I said “Well, it looks like you made it this far. I’m good with it.”

I tried to get into the back seat. If safety became an issue, I would rather have this woman sitting in front of me, than behind. But she was already taking possession of the back seat saying, “No, no, you set up front with your friend. I’m okay back here.”

We talked on the trip down. Her name was Laura. She lives under a bridge near downtown Denver with her boyfriend and others. She told us she has two daughters in Arizona whom she hasn’t seen or heard from in along time. “My daughters have my address but I don’t have theirs. I can’t go visit them or nothing.” She sounded tired, mad and sad.

“How do they keep in touch if you don’t have an address?” asked Kay.

"Well, the mission in the downtown area, they let us use their address. We can go there.”

I turned in my seat and asked her how she got so far north of Denver. Her face was clean but kind of puffy and she had a black eye. I recognized the smell of someone who has been drinking so long that the stench of stale alcohol was seeping out her pores. She smiled at me and I smiled back.

“I’m an alcoholic. I will admit that, but I’m not a drug-ey. This guy drove by and offered me a ride, and I was cold so I got in his car. We was driving around and we bought some whiskey and we was drinking that and smoking some pot and stuff. Next thing I know I look around and I know that I’m not in Denver anymore. He says he has a house in Loveland and we’re going there. At his house we drank some more and other people were there and there were drugs and stuff. And then, all of a sudden the cops came busting in and arresting everybody. And I am telling them that I don’t even know these people, I just want to go home to Denver. This guy, he tells them that what I am saying is true, that he just picked me up in Denver and he don’t even know who I am. They took me to a shelter to spend the night and they were gonna put me on a bus or something, but I had to get out of there. My boyfriend is gonna be worried. I just want to get home.”

That was the fastest forty minute trip to Denver that I have ever made. She told us how she panhandles for a living. Sometimes she makes street art with another friend and they sell those. Frank talk, no excuses. We told her that we were heading down because we had signed up to volunteer on this day. She told us that she likes horses and grew up with them on the reservation. As we approach our destination and get to an intersection where we would turn away from downtown, Laura thanked us warmly, collected her stuff and bustled out of the car.

Kay and I found our parking lot and headed into a warm building filled with cowboys and horses. We were both glad that she had picked up Laura; it was a peak into another human being’s reality. Both Kay and her husband have been laid off recently and money has been tight in my house for the last several years. Life feels very challenging for us. Many years ago I was consumed with fear at the thought of being “a bag lady”. Really, we’re talking therapy. I was scared to death.

And here she is. Laura, who lives under a bridge forty minutes from my house; who collects things other people throw away, makes art of it and sells them to buy whiskey and food. I suppose she headed off to her bridge to find her boyfriend. I hope that he is happy to see her and he believes her story. I forgot to ask her how she got her black eye.

* annette

Meeting the New World

I gather up my notebook, pencil and water bottle and head outside to journal. My heart trills as it recognizes our widened world and my being-ness needs open spaces ~ expanding beyond the walls of my sweet little house.
As i head out the back door towards the barn, i put on a sweater under my coat as the wind is blowing and it looks cold. I throw Lakota a flake of hay so she will stay near me and make my self comfortable on the bales which form a comfortable, but crunchy couch.

The north wall of the pole barn completely blocks the wind. I smile and relax. The afternoon sun warms my face and fingers. I note the moisture under my arms and pull off my coat. I sit still and my cat bounces over to see what’s not going on. I close my eyes and watch the colors on the inside of my eyelids. I can change them by squinting and then the color swirls around as i relax my eyes. I take off my sweater and feel the blessed sun on my chest. A phrase that i heard on the morning news repeats through my head.

“Rosa sat so Martin could walk.
Martin walked so Obama could run.
Obama ran so our children can fly.”

My cat purrs, my horse chomps, my heart expands.
I thank the goddess for this blessed space.
The fact that everyone does not share my joy does not diminish my bliss.
The world has changed and it is a better place.


* annette

Unity in Diversity - in Honor of Martin Luther King Jr.

What was the dream of Martin Luther King Jr? What is the dream of Barack Obama? What is your dream?

My dream began to form words when I was in college. Someone asked me what I wanted to be “when I grew up.” I said, “ A real human Being.”

They asked me no more questions. Do you wonder what I dream?

I dream of always knowing that I am, like all humans, God’s Divine Child. I dream of constantly expressing that in thought, word and deed. That would be living from the inside out. Living from the heart, outward, rather than taking life into my heart.

College offered a class on the ‘Psychology of Differences’ but none about ‘the Psychology of Unity‘. Yes, the diversity of appearances, actions, and languages boggles the mind. Yet I do not doubt that there is a Oneness that we all share-- be it called God, Spirit, or Love. We catch positive glimpses of it in Jesus, in Krishna, in pure Love, in our kind friend, or the acts of strangers helping those in need. We also see it in negative seeking when we feel bereft of its fullness within us.

Every thought word and deed is, in its deepest root, either growing out of the Oneness or out of our seeking for it. The torturer, the drug addict, the slut, the tyrant, the soldier, the terrorist are all trying to get something out of their actions-- safety, bliss, power-- that they hope will fulfill. We are them, only different in what we believe that we need to do to feel safety, bliss, or power, when disconnected from Oneness.

Sometimes we get mixed up and want the oneness of everyone looking, speaking, and acting the same. That is nowhere near Oneness. Great Respect and Great Love for all Beings are.

Stop the violent behavior, not the human.

"May all beings be happy.
May all beings be peaceful.
May all beings be one with Oneness.
May all beings be free from every kind of suffering."

By Terra Rafael

Treasures

I want to start writing, daily, if only a few minutes, lines, words, concepts, a day. Just allowing the creative act, each day, with laying down a line, a thought, and moving on. Already the tide of thoughts this day has brought in a rich assortment of treasures. Many of which went right back out to the ocean because I didn’t write them down. The whole notion of picking up a thought, as I might a shell, looking it over to decide is this one to keep and work with, play with? And why one might seem more precious in that moment than another. Some feed us, not just as an object, but as an opening to a mini-world within. A room we’d never gone in and explored. We may have peeked in at one time or another but never really fully entered. A story or sentence or a few words can take you, let you enter, this place deep within your being.

Out of all the words, thoughts, and volumes of books out there all of a sudden one stops us long enough to reflect, to gaze at and with words it can pull us into it’s waves. We find that one “speaks to us”, nurtures, feeds, gives us something. What is it? Opening our minds, sometimes not as open as we’d like to think. Opening our hearts, our tender hearts that often have layers of protection. Words arrive, give insight, to open and free some part that had been waiting in the dark. The words turn on a light to illuminate that next thing that is up for us.

When I went to my first Opera in L.A., Pucini’s Madame Butterfly, for two days afterwards cells in my body were still enlivened, awakened. I remember leaving feeling like someone fed me something I’d never had. Words can do this too, if we create the space to receive them. If we really receive their voice it may waken our own. So that treasure that washes up to the shore of our being can inspire our own treasures. Waiting silently within to be discovered and uncovered. Maybe it’s a ray of sunlight piercing through the clouds to land on a speck of ocean and sparkle. Just there for that moment to bring beauty through to you. To behold and let go. We can’t hold onto the treasures, it is in the receiving and letting go that we come to find something.

Mary

Seeping In

This quote from Thomas Merton; "The root of Christian love is not the will to love, but the faith that one is loved. The faith that one is loved by God." arrived by email today. It slid inside my being and helped flip the switch from all I'm always thinking I have to do to pause and receive its succor. I can take that minute and remember "I am loved" and things seem to change. I don't feel as rushed. I can find a way to let these words seep deeper inside like a soft rain working it's way into the land. It will initially roll over the dry places and look for the cracks to work its way in. It doesn't fight its way in but in its persistence and pursuit is its essence of gentleness. As it continues hours later even the hard stuff softens. Just letting in what is always there till there is no difference between me and the love. All in a day's work.

Mary

Beyond Words

After the words stop,
then what?
Do we enter the space akin to what animals live in?
or something better?
Do we hear or know our Divine Self?
Do we rest in peace
a saying usually saved and praised for the dead.
Are not words what takes us to that ledge?
All those pathways of thoughts
made of words
footsteps that lead
us to what lies just outside of their reach.
They capture glimpses of our experiences.
They might shed light or delight
they walk us deeper into ourselves or way far in the distance
to the past…or the present.
But when its all said……ALL…all the stories have been told,
then where do we go?
beyond the words to a space and place
reserved and waiting. That pool of indescribable
that words can only point to…lead you to.
Where we all emerged
Peace beyond words
Where we all know
we will return to, do return to,
can choose to return to.

I’ll meet you there.
Mary

Essay. Flying

Flying over the field. Looking for the movement, the smallest twitch gets my attention. Driven only by the emptiness in my gut. It is good that it is cloudy, that which I am hunting is less likely to be alarmed by my shadow.

Quiet, peaceful, gliding, looking closely, searching far. Rhythm of my wings, unaware of my breath.

Daylight – time to fly. Darkness – time to rest. Ever wary.

Here they come. The small birds. My tormentors. Taunting me. Harassing me. Moving me away from their nests. Their young. They protect – I hunt.

A movement below. I circle. No need to identify what it is - just recognize the movement. I circle. Years of experience. Timing. Part knowledge - part cellular memory.

NOW !!! I dive head first towards the ground. Focused intention. I pull back, talons reaching in front of me. I strike. I close around the snake and immediately head back for the freedom on the skies. Death = life. Another day.

* annette

A Lesson in Time

Just the other day someone made a comment about the fact that I never wear a watch. “That is remarkable” she said, “how do you make it to all of your appointments on time?”
For one moment I traveled back to a long ago event…

I remember it as clearly as if it happened yesterday. I was standing in front of the elevator door watching the numbers light up as it traveled slowly up and then began its descent. One of my best friends was back in the hospital, her stomach full of cancer. I was taking time out from a very busy work schedule, and as I waited I was trying to remember every thing I still had to get done that day. Then, you see, I would know how long I could comfortably spend with her on this particular afternoon.

My watch band broke. My watch slipped off my wrist and fell to the vinyl tile floor and laid there beside my foot. Looking down at it I suddenly felt lost. I bent down, picked it up and held it in my hand, confused for a moment as to what to do next. I was embarrassed. What in the heck was I worried about? How much time did I have? Hell, how much time did she have? What is time?

As I gazed at the broken watch it spoke to me, “This is a gift. Go upstairs and be with her. Time is of no importance.” With a deep sigh, I dropped it into my purse as the elevator door opened in front of me.

* annette

Essay: Longings...

Our assignment is to write about longings. I have been in a semi-melancholy state for weeks. Just thinking about “Longings” fits my current mood.

I long for security. A security that comes from outside me. I know, I know …. “if that which you seek cannot be found within, it will never be found without”. Whatever! I honor a young girl's longing to be loved and nurtured. I would like to curl up in my grandmother's soft lap and be cuddled. I have on more than one occasion looked at my cat, curled up in a warm fuzzy ball in my lap…… and felt mildly jealous….wanting to trade places.

I long to have enough time and enough $$ ~~ both at the same time ~~ to lie back and relax. I wonder what, if anything, I could create if I had the absolute freedom to spend time doing it? When my son was little I volunteered to teach a class to small children on how to make rattles of leather. Daydreaming, I saw myself as a young Indian woman. I wondered what it would be like if my only job was to make one beautiful rattle this day. That was my responsibility to my tribe. I was not the hunter and the cook and the cleaner; I was the maker of fine rattles. What a treat!

I long to sit beside the stream and tone with the water spirits. This I will do again in the spring. I promise this to myself right now.

I long for a lover’s arms.

I repeat the mantra, “if that which you seek cannot be found within, it will never be found without”. But I long for a summer vacation on the coast, with gentle waves, sun, clouds, distant music, a loving touch and tender words. All in one picture.

I close my eyes and go within. It is a sweet place. “So be it. And so it is”

* annette