Yesterday, during a three-hour online Mystical Memoir workshop, the invitation given was to write in response to several prompts. One being: Before I Die. And another: Since You've Been Gone. Loved ones lived in the ink I pressed to the pages. Later, in the morning, I accidentally spilled half a glass of water onto my desk, and my words spread and blurred. I cried some more. Tenderness was the word I latched onto as I wiped up the mess and placed the soggy papers on the floor to dry in the sunlight. This morning, as I turn the calendar page on my desk, I notice this, too, had been touched by the blur, and so I took it as a sign to soften. I turned down the light, took the offered cup of tea in my hands, and blew across the surface while making a wish. It's the same wish I often make, but it's a new day...xo
No comments:
Post a Comment